


False Ties

by JunjouSlashGirl



Series: Binding Ties [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Child Abuse, Eventual Creature Fic, Eventual Father/Son Incest, Eventual mpreg, M/M, Slash, Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15723885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunjouSlashGirl/pseuds/JunjouSlashGirl
Summary: Even before Harry got his Hogwarts Letter, Dumbledore fetched him to train him personally. But the old wizard’s intentions are anything but good and considerate. He needs a weapon against Tom Marvolo Riddle and who would be more suitable than the child which he had successfully used to get rid of Lord Voldemort once before?This is the Prequel to Family Ties.





	1. False Hopes

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> [](http://www.freeimagehosting.net/commercial-photography/)  
>    
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: And because I am awesome, a warning for those who need it.
> 
> The Mature Warning: Means that you have to be LEGAL in your country to read this story, be that 16, 17, 18, 21, 100... You get the picture. That responsibility lies with YOU the reader. It also means that my story will have SEX scenes or private body parts mentioned. If you don’t like it, I recommend searching for stories with NO sex.
> 
> The Slash Warning: Means that there is going to be GAY sex (that is man on man sex in this instance). Don’t be upset if the main pairing are two or more men that end up together.   
> 

[ ](http://www.freeimagehosting.net/commercial-photography/)

**Prologue:**  
_(Rhian aged 7)_

Dumbledore appeared in front of Privet Drive Number 4 and swiftly made his way up to the front door. Only 6 years had passed since he had visited the house last, when he had dropped off one: Rhian Cerridwen Riddle (because he would never indulge Tom Riddle’s notions of misplaced grandeur and use the surname Slytherin for this particular family, like the Dark Lord had demanded from his followers in the late years of the war). Now, of course, Rhian was known as Harry James Potter, a stroke of genius, he had to admit.

In the beginning, he had been angry and disappointed with himself, as he had realized that he had failed to kill the latest child of Riddle, but at least he had succeeded with the first three offspring, and by now he had even found a good use for the abomination he had not been able to get rid of. With the help of the poor, innocent and unknowing boy, he would finally end Lord Voldemort once and for all and ensure the Light Magic’s place as the dominant power in their world. 

When he had started to reform the horrible power wizards and witches had used centuries ago, he would never have thought that he would get so far, that his plan would be so successful and he was glad that apparently some higher power supported his ambitions, or maybe, it was all thanks to his brilliant mind and determination.

However, first things first, he had yet to win the war and for that he would need said boy, or rather, his unique, magical powers. 

Having reached the front door, he placed his most convincing grandfather-smile on his face, even though he knew it would gain him nothing with the Muggles he was about to visit, and finally knocked. 

“Pet, the door,” he heard a voice yelling from the inside and cringed inwardly at the horrible term of endearment. Footsteps could be heard and a moment later, a thin, horse-like woman finally appeared in the doorway. Her thin, forced smile instantly faltered as her eyes landed on his bright orange and purple robe and he frowned inwardly. He had nothing against muggles, of course not, they were easy enough to control, but their taste was even more horrible than those of Pureblood witches and wizards. However, he didn’t let anything show, he was here for a reason after all and for that, he needed to be let inside and see the Dark Spawn. 

“Good afternoon, Petunia, can I assume you still remember me?”  
“Of course, Dumbledore,” she replied, but didn’t move.  
So, with an internal sigh, he asked: “May I come in? It will not take long, I only wish to check on your young nephew.”

Something like fear briefly flickered over the woman’s face. He could imagine where it came from, but as he did not feel any pity for Tom’s child, regardless of the fate he had met in this household, he ignored it.

Petunia finally stepped to the side and he quickly entered. The hallway he found himself in had not changed much in the years he had not visited. Only the pictures on the wall showed that any time had passed at all. While they had shown something like a pink, round ball with some blonde fluff six years ago, they now showed a huge, obese boy playing with various colorful toys. 

“Your home is inviting as always,” he said, but only earned himself a nod.  
“The boy is in the kitchen,” Petunia told him and pointed to the first door on the left. She disappeared into the living room, and after he was sure that the woman had left (not that he believed that she would tell anybody what he was about to do), he entered the middle-sized room.

Immediately his eyes zeroed in on the small form that was kneeling on the floor, scrubbing the white tiles on all four. His lips contorted into a sneer as disgust and nausea once again overtook him, just like six years ago. How something so despicable and evil could be so beautiful, was something he would never be able to understand. His black hair was silky, but had grown to fall down to the slim waist in a shiny curtain and his skin shone like liquid moonlight. But then he noticed the worn, oversized clothes that hung from thin, skeleton-like shoulders, the swollen ankle he tried to put no weight on and the many bruises that littered the thin arms and his mood instantly improved.

The boy must have heard him approach, because he turned around and Dumbledore was forced to look into those poisonous, green eyes he had wished to never see again. Avada Kedavra-green, his mind supplied and he had to suppress a shudder that threatened to run down his spine. Not wishing to spend more time in the proximity of Voldemort’s spawn than absolutely necessary, he swiftly pulled out his wand, and cast “imperio”. It was time to test the child’s usefulness. 

The boy’s eyes went unfocused and he quickly gave his command:  
“Go to the kitchen drawer and pull out the sharpest knife you can find.” With satisfaction, he watched as the child dropped the sponge he had still been holding, and walked over to the drawers. Once he had pulled a long, pointy knife out, he turned to face him again, awaiting his next order obediently.

“Go into the living room and kill your cousin with the knife,” Dumbledore told him and watched the boy leave, all the while nodding to himself. He was already planning how to best use the boy to kill his own father, when he heard a young voice shouting “NO!” and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Cursing inwardly, he just turned around in time to see Rhian scrambling into a cupboard under the stairs, however, before he could follow the boy, the fat husband of Petunia came stomping from the living room:

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

“Obliviate,” he simply said, and watched as his spell erased the last half an hour from the man’s mind, before he finally followed the cursed boy. He had so hoped that his plan would work, it would have made everything so much simpler and easier for him, but apparently he would have to train and mold the boy personally after all, Rhian had thrown the Imperio off  
far too quickly and easily to risk a second try.

He of course knew people who would be perfectly capable of training the boy for the war ahead, but for now, he would not risk his weapon just to be hasty, he still had time after all.. A seal would probably be the best solution, or a net of seals, just to be sure that the child would not be able to break free from his bindings.

With a sigh, he opened the cupboard and crouched down. Rhian was hiding in the far back corner, where the darkness almost swallowed him and no adult could reach, probably a tactic learned after many beatings from his uncle. Fortunately, he didn’t need to reach the boy. Pointing his wand at the huddled figure, he muttered “obliviate” for the second time and waited to see the green eyes glaze over, before he finally left the house again and apparated back into his personal office at Hogwarts. He needed to make a new plan.

[](http://www.freeimagehosting.net/commercial-photography/)  
**Chapter 1: False Hopes**  
_(Rhian aged 7)_

Seven year old Harry Potter winced and suppressed a sniffle. His head was hurting and his stomach churning from hunger. He wanted to lay down, but he knew he would not be allowed to. His cousin Dudley was always allowed to lay down on the comfortable looking sofa and just watch the telly when he did not feel well, because Dudley was a good boy and not a lazy freeloader like him, whatever a freeloader was. His cousin also wasn’t a freak, he had no freakish abnormal powers, he thought, as he let some of his freakish power soak into the ground to check if the flowers needed watering.

They didn’t and he quickly pulled his senses in again. If his aunt or uncle ever found out how often he used his “freakishness” he would be in big trouble, but he could not stop himself. The earth beneath him, the wind on his skin, the prickling in the air, the flowers and animals, they were the only friends he had, he just could not stay away from them. 

At the kindergarten he had no friends, not after his cousin had shoved that nice looking girl with the wild, brown locks so hard that her nose had started bleeding. The thought of her made him sniffle again, she had been really nice, he had so hoped that she would become his new friend, but she hadn’t shown up at the kindergarten after the incident and the teacher had told him that she was going to another kindergarten now. 

A dog barked somewhere and he was jolted out of his memories. Looking around, he saw that he still had a lot to do. The leaves that had fallen down last autumn still needed to be cleaned from the flower beds and the weeds pulled out and soon he had to prepare dinner. It was the first week he was preparing dinner as well as breakfast and lunch and it took all the time he had used to play in his cupboard before it grew too dark in the hallway to shed some light into his small space. But his aunt had explained that he soon would go to school and needed to earn his school fees.

He really wanted to visit the primary school, even though his cousin would probably scare the other children away from him again, but he liked learning new stuff. He would finally learn how to read. Reading was something he wished he could do for some time now. Whenever he looked through the one picture book he possessed, and his mind drifted off to the adventures the pictures where telling him about, he wondered what great stories the words would be able to tell him. So with that goal in mind, he crouched down and started to clean the flower beds.

For the next hour he worked silently as he removed leaves and little twigs. Some of the twigs had sharp edges or thorns, but he ignored the splinters that stuck into his skin and the many small scrape wounds he got. While he worked, he unconsciously let his senses seep into the ground. He always felt less lonely when he could feel the presence of the plants and small insects and animals surrounding him.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was nearly done with the foliage, when he was suddenly overwhelmed by a strong presence he had never sensed before. The presence seemed to burn like the scolding sun in the summer and with a little gasp, he quickly drew back and looked fearfully around. Around him, he could hear the trees whispering and moaning and he began to search for the source of their agony. 

Footsteps could be heard and in the next moment, the strangest man he had ever seen pushed the front gate to his family’s plot open. He was old, older than any man he had ever seen, with long, silver-white hair and a matching beard, his nose was slightly crooked and a pair of golden half-moon spectacles sat upon it, however, the strangest thing about the person was his clothes. They reminded him of the picture of the wizard in one of his cousin’s picture books, only that those had been dark blue and not a bright yellow, green and purple. Fascinated, Rhian stared at the long robe and wondered if the golden stars he could see on the fabric were waving at him, or if his mind was just playing tricks on him.

He blinked once, twice, but the stars still seemed to wave, however, before Rhian could remind himself that something like waving stars did not exist, the stranger addressed him.  
“Good morning, Harry,” he said in a kind voice. “I see you are diligent.”  
He heard his name so rarely, that Rhian needed a moment to realize that the man actually meant him. A warm feeling of joy blossomed in his chest, but as he wanted to greet the stranger back, he noticed with disappointment that he had already entered his relatives house. 

Sighing, he turned back to his flower beds, but not five minutes had passed when he heard his aunt's voice calling for him:

“Boy, come inside, the man wants to talk to you! But clean your hands first and leave your shoes outside, if you get my floor dirty, there will be no dinner for you!” 

Scrambling to his feet, he quickly ran to the faucet and cleaned his hands before running back to the house and entering, hoping that he had been quick enough, because he hadn’t had something to eat for three days now and knew that if he had to skip yet another meal that he would be even more tired tomorrow and that would lead to him making mistakes which in return meant that his uncle would beat the laziness out of him.

The voice of the old man came from the living room, a room he was normally only allowed in to clean, so he knocked carefully on the doorframe and asked:  
“Aunt Petunia, you called?”  
“Yes, and now come here,” she snapped impatiently and waved him over. As he entered the room, he saw that the visitor was sitting all alone on the large couch, while his aunt sat stiffly in one of the armchairs.

“Hello my boy, my name is Professor Dumbledore,” the stranger addressed him once more as he had reached the sitting area. Rhian turned to look at the visitor, as he knew it would be impolite not to do so, but as soon as his eyes met the twinkling blue ones of the Professor, his lingering headache spiked. For a short second he had the strange feeling of having seen the man before, but it was gone as soon as it had popped up and he pushed his rising uneasiness to the side.

Shaking his head, he hurriedly collected himself again and introduced himself as well.  
“Hello, Professor, I am Harry.”  
The man’s eyes seemed to sparkle even stronger for a second, then he nodded, as if satisfied with something and said:  
“Harry, my boy, as you surely have picked up on already, I am a professor, that means I teach children.”  
Rhian nodded again, he knew that professors were something like teachers.  
“I have heard you are a bright and diligent boy,” the professor continued, and Rhian saw to his relief that he ignored his aunt’s pursed lips, and just continued “that is why I am here, to offer you a place at my school.”

Suddenly, all Rhian’s previous skepticism was forgotten and his eyes brightened in excited anticipation. He couldn’t believe that the Professor was inviting him. Not Dudley, or together with Dudley (because otherwise his cousin would be there right now), but him.  
“I can go to your school?” he repeated, wanting to make sure that he had not misunderstood anything.  
“No, not directly, my boy,” the Professor replied and his heart instantly sank again, but his disappointment was short lived, as Dumbledore explained: “Children can only start at Hogwarts after they have turned eleven, but I offer you a place as my personal student. So, will you accept?” 

He didn’t need to think about it for even a second and just nodded frantically. He would be allowed to go to school, he would learn how to read and many other exciting things and maybe, in his breaks he would even see the other students. 

“Good, good,” the Professor nodded again. “Then be ready tomorrow morning at nine. I will have everything you need, so you do not need to worry about buying any school supplies on such short notice.” With that, the Professor rose again, not knowing that Rhian had left out a relieved sigh he had not even been aware he had been holding, said his goodby and left first the living room and then the house. 

As soon as he had left, Rhian’s aunt snapped angrily: “Don’t think that you should be proud of your scholarship. It’s a school for freaks that man is the Headmaster of. Your worthless parents went to that school as well and what became of them? Drunkards that died in a car crash and left their good-for-nothing brat with us.”

The words stung like always and Rhian quickly lowered his eyes to hide that they were glistening threateningly. His aunt liked to remember how worthless his parents had been, but it never grew easier to listen to her. 

“And now get started with the dinner. My Dear Vernon will be home in less than an hour and be hungry once he arrives.”  
Rhian quickly left, before his aunt could grow even more ill tempered and forbid him to go to the Professor the next day. 

The rest of the day he spent with preparing dinner and finishing his work in the garden. After he had showered that evening (normally he was only allowed to shower on Sundays, and it was only Tuesday) Petunia even gave him two slices of toast and a low-fat Yoghurt, which Dudley refused to eat. She also told him that he better cause them no trouble with the freak next day. But despite his aunt's cruel and hurtful words and how his day had started, he went to bed in a good mood, barely able to fall asleep because of his anticipation.

The next morning, he was awoken extra early so that he had enough time to do his morning chores. He prepared an extra portion of bacon for his family, and didn’t even find himself sad for not being allowed anything as well (he never had tried bacon so far). He was just cleaning the bathroom upstairs (one of his afternoon chores, which he would have to add to his evening schedule from now on) when he was startled by a high pitched scream, coming from his aunt. 

Wondering what could have happened, and if she may need some help (after all Petunia was still his aunt and he loved her) he dashed downstairs and followed her now yelling voice into the living room. 

“I may allow you to fetch the boy every morning, but neither I, nor my Vernon will tolerate your freakish methods in our house!”

He rounded the corner, by now afraid that his aunt would forbid him to go to the lessons after all, she just sounded so angry, and froze instantly. For a second, his young mind was unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His new Professor, Dumbledore - he recalled the man’s name, was just stepping out of his family's fireplace, which was glowing green right now, and was dusting off his colorful robes with an happy smile, as if nothing, not even Petunia’s yelling, could dampen his mood. Then, before Rhian could regain his wits, the professor noticed and addressed him:  
“Ah, good morning my boy. I hope you are ready?” He questioned and Rhian quickly nodded.

“Good, good. Then come over here,” the old man added and waved him over to the fireplace.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The swirling stopped, and he stumbled out onto a soft carpet. He lifted his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He had to be dreaming, or maybe the fireplace had brought him to a whole different universe, because otherwise, he could not imagine how such an office could exist.

The room was round and had many elegant, dark and very expensive looking shelves, on which stood many steaming, humming or silently whistling instruments. Some of them were colorful, others so shiny that they reflected the light in all directions, and others again looked as if they were no mere machines, but alive, living and breathing beings. There were also rows and rows of books. Some looked heavy as a tomb, others were barely more than ancient looking scrolls of papyrus. He believed he could hear them whisper to each other, and sometimes, it seemed as if a spine was shifting a little under his gaze, but surely he was only imagining it?

Next his gaze fell onto the wall behind the gigantic desk, which was occupied by many portraits, and they were clearly moving. They were pointing their fingers at him, whispering agitatedly. Some were even smiling and waving at him, while others just watched him with a sceptical look. One, the portrait of a rather harsh looking man with elegantly styled, black looks and piercing, dark blue eyes had given him a long, pitiful look before he had shook his head and left his portrait. That was the moment that he realized that something bad must have happened during the fireplace ride. 

A cough finally startled him and as he turned around, he saw that the professor had sat down behind his desk and was clearly waiting for him, as an empty chair had appeared opposite of the beautiful wingback chair he himself was occupying. Blushing, Rhian quickly ran over, moved the chair a little bit to the side and climbed on top of it. 

“Now, boy,” Dumbledore started and Rhian frowned. He didn’t like how the Professor suddenly called him ‘boy’, just like his aunt and uncle, but he kept silent; he had learned a long time ago that adults didn’t like children talking back. So he continued to just listen.

“As I am sure you have already noticed, this is not a normal school for normal children. Tell me Harry,” Dumbledore continued and that strange sound in his voice had disappeared again, making Rhian more relaxed “has something strange ever happened. Maybe you have jumped incredibly high, something has vanished or have you possibly hurt someone you had been angry at?”

Slowly, Rhian nodded. He didn’t have to think about it long, even though since the first time he had used his power, he had always kept it secret after his aunt’s violent reaction.  
“I can make flowers grow,” he told Dumbledore carefully, not sure if he was now allowed to be proud of his gift or not. He saw that the professor’s face had darkened into a frown, and suddenly nervous again, he started to fidget again. 

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir, I know I shouldn’t do these freakish thinks…” he began, wishing that the old man would not be too mad. His words must have startled the professor, because he blinked a few times, before he retorted:  
“Everything is fine my boy. It would have been rather worrisome if you never had experienced any strange things. You must know, there is a dangerous darkness in the world, led by the most evil man you can possibly imagine. But some of us, like myself and you, are born with a power strong enough to fight him. Your parents were once at the front of those noble fighters, they were one of the strongest.”

“But my parents died in an car accident!” he blurted out. It would be so great if his parents had been heroes like Dumbledore just described, but Petunia had told him so often that they had been no good, that he hesitated to believe the Professor. 

“Am I guessing correctly that it was your aunt who told you that story?” Dumbledore questioned.  
“Yes, sir.”  
“I fear my boy, I have to tell you that your aunt lied to you. Petunia always had been jealous of your mother, who was not only prettier, but gifted as well. She always envied Lily when she left after each holiday for Hogwarts, but those are old stories and not important any longer.”

Rhian wanted to argue, because if Dumbledore was right, maybe that was the reason why he never got chocolate or was allowed to watch the telly, but he bit his lip to keep silent. 

“Important for you to know, however is,” the Professor continued and Rhian wished he could hide somewhere as his twinkling, blue eyes seemed to pierce him, “that your mother sacrificed her life for you and through her sacrifice you have been blessed with the power to free our world from the evil that is the Dark Lord.”

Rhian’s eyes widened. “My parents were killed?”  
“Yes, they, and many thousands of others. But you have the power to defeat him and prevent more children from losing their families like you have. Do you understand that, my boy?”

The raven slowly nodded, with his eyes focused on his hands that were twisting nervously in his lap. He was understanding, or at least he hoped so. He knew he wasn’t very intelligent, not like Dudley at least who was really smart according to his aunt and uncle, but that Dumbledore had collected him to win this battle for him; he could actually see.

“Your parents were heroes, Harry, just like you are fated to be. Quite possibly even a greater one then they had been,” the Headmaster’s voice suddenly broke through his musing as he looked up, blinking a few times to clear his head, he saw that the man was expectantly staring at him. He blushed, as he realized that Dumbledore had expected more than a nod, and just that suddenly a strong determination coursed through him, a determination to avenge the loving parents he had lost and prevent any other children of becoming as sad as he had always been; he said with a strong voice: “I will do my best to defeat him, sir. I will study day and night if I have to!”

The old wizard’s face softened with a warm smile and he gave him an approving nod. 

“Then, my boy, let us not waste any more time. Voldemort is a strong opponent and it will take a few years for you to learn enough until you will be able to stand up against him.”  
He opened a drawer that was hidden just beneath the table top, and to Rhian’s confusion he pulled a slender branch from it. It was maybe as long as Rhian’s under arm and a few leaves and blossoms were still connected to it; he recognized it as an apple branch. 

“Now Harry,” Dumbledore began again and handed him the branch “to perform magic, every witch and wizard needs a wand.”  
Frowning, Rhian swished the branch a little, but nothing happened. Dumbledore chuckled. “This is not yet a wand. A wand is created from a normal piece of wood and a spell. The child who is supposed to get his or her wand, needs to hold it tightly, while a strong, trusted adult has to transform it. Often it is a family member who does the honor, but I hope you do not mind me performing the spell.”

He quickly shook his head, tightened his grasp and concentrated while looking into the Headmaster’s blue eyes.  
“Very well,” the wizard retorted and pulled something out that had to be his own wand. It was knobby somehow, not as straight and smooth like the wands he had glimpsed in Dudley’s cartoons, but he supposed that every wand would look unique when it was specially created for a wizard or witch. He wondered what his own wand would look like.

Dumbledore gave him an encouraging wink, then lifted his wand, waved it in a complicated looking pattern and said something in a language Rhian didn’t understand and the branch in his hand suddenly began to change. It shrank and thickened at the same time. The dull brown transformed to a reddish, chestnut color and thin, golden lines appeared on the wood.

For a few second he could do nothing more than stare at the piece of wood and suddenly he was sure that his life would finally turn into something bright and good, even though he would have to train to defeat a Dark Lord one day.

“I see we can be really proud of you, my boy.”  
Rhian blinked as Dumbledore interrupted his temporary trance. Not understanding what the old wizard meant though, he asked: “Why?”  
Dumbledore in return pointed at his wand. “Do you see those golden lines? They form a lion, the house symbol of Gryffindor, which your parents were part of during their own school days. Godric Gryffindor, one of the Founders of Hogwarts, and the Founders of our school, was possibly the most powerful, courageous and wisest of our Four Founders. Before he build the school with his friends, he was a knight who fought against the darkness and protected the weak, you certainly would be sorted into his house if we were to sort you.”

Feeling a bit disappointed as the Headmaster’s words sounded as if he would not be sorted into any house, he asked carefully, in the hope that he had maybe just understood the wizard wrong: “But I am not?” 

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, Harry, you will not be sorted and part of the normal curriculum. Your role in this world is much too important for you to waste time with subjects that will not be of help to you to fulfill your destiny. You will be taught by myself, mainly in Defensive and Offensive Magic, but also a bit in politics, so that you can fully understand what you are fighting for. 

Cheering up at the prospect of the things he would learn, Rhian sat up straighter. “Will you start my lessons today?”  
“Maybe,” the Headmaster retorted. “First we have to check your magical abilities. In many magical families different abilities run which could come in quite handy, but to be able to train them, we have to find out which you possess.” The Headmaster waved his wand and a box appeared on the desk between them. Immediately, Rhian could hear a strange, hissing sound coming from the inside.  
_“Where am I? Why is it so dark and cold? Stupid humans… have they locked me up? I will bite them and kill them…”_  
His eyebrows shot up in confusion, what strange creature had the Headmaster conjured? Looking up, he closed his already opening mouth however, when he saw that Dumbledore was eyeing him intently.  
“Can you understand what the voice is saying, my boy?” the old wizard asked and a strange feeling overcame Rhian as he met those blue eyes.  
Shifting a little in reaction to his sudden nervousness, he nodded. “Yes, sir.... it’s not saying nice things…”  
Dumbledore chuckled, but Rhian was left disappointed when the Headmaster merely waved his wand again, first, to vanish the box, and then to conjure a small, rectangular piece of parchment.

“Now, the second test. Your mother was quite a skilled Metamorphmagus.”  
“Metamo…?” Rhian echoed, but his tongue got twisted around the strange word and he quickly gave up on repeating the word.  
“A Metamorphmagus. That is a person with the rare and useful ability of changing his or her appearances only by the force of their will. This,” Dumbledore said and pushed the piece of paper in front of him, which turned out to be a photo of a small, brown eyed boy with a messy mop of dark brown hair and a round, friendly face. However, there was also a gleam in the boy’s eyes, which made Rhian instantly cautious, even though he couldn’t understand why, after all, the boy was smiling and looking nice enough.

“This, is a photo of your father when he was about your age. Please try to change your appearance to resemble his.”

Staring at the picture, Rhian tried to push the uncomfortable feeling inside of him away. He didn’t want to change his appearance, he liked his long and smooth black hair and his green eyes which shone brighter than the fresh grass in spring; not even to resemble his father more.

“Harry,” the Headmaster interrupted his thoughts as he had apparently hesitated for too long. “Your father’s family, the Potters, have been a well known and highly regarded Light Wizarding family. It would give people even more hope if they could see your resemblance to this powerful family. You want to give the public hope in these dark times don’t you?” 

Flushing as he realized how selfish his thoughts had been, he quickly nodded in agreement and concentrated on the photo again.  
“Good,” Dumbledore said praisingly, but he barely heard it as he tried to will his hair to change color and length. He concentrated as hard as he could, but couldn’t feel anything strange. However, as he didn’t know if he was supposed to feel anything, he after a while asked:  
“Do I look different?”  
“I am afraid you have to try harder, my boy,” Dumbledore replied.  
Rhian’s eyes started to burn as he stared unblinkingly at the picture, determined to succeed in this first task, but even after five and even ten more minutes, nothing had happened.  
After a while, the old wizard sighed and Rhian stiffened as he sensed the great disappointment in that one sound. However, what the Headmaster said next, pushed him straight into panic: “Harry, I would truly like to see at least a tiny change of appearance, after all, your aunt and I agreed this morning that I will give her daily updates on your progression…”

“No! Please! I will try harder, but don’t tell my aunt that I was a bad pupil!” he exclaimed helplessly, but Dumbledore merely shook his head.  
“I fear I have to. Your aunt is putting great trust in me, by letting you obtain an education she knows nothing about. She is worried that these lessons will not prepare you sufficiently enough for the future. However, you may try a little longer.”

Rhian wanted to tell Dumbledore that his aunt was definitely not worried about his ‘good education’ and that a bad report would leave him hungry for at least two days, but that would only take some of the time he had left to transform himself, so he quickly returned his eyes to the photo, but still nothing happened. 

However, suddenly, he had the idea that maybe he was using the wrong method, so instead of staring at the picture, he closed his eyes, recalled his dad’s appearance in his mind and then imagined himself changing into that image. Without warning, a tingle started to spread inwards from his toes and fingertips, as he imagined his skin turning to a nice, tanned golden skin, his hair shortening and lightening and his face shifting to become more rounder. Soon the tingling covered his whole body. It was not a bad feeling; in fact it felt nice - as it felt as if he for once was strong, as if he was powerful. With this power, he could defend himself from Dudley, or even retaliate when his cousin hit him the next time. WIth this power, he could make his life better, he could just feel it. The feeling only lasted for a few seconds, which somehow disappointed him, however, he consoled himself by reminding himself that Dumbledore would teach him more magic until he would be able to use it freely and at his own accord. Maybe Dumbledore would even know how he could strengthen his connection to the earth, plants and animals which he loved to feel so much. 

He was roughly pushed from his pleasant daydream-bubble, when Dumbledore’s voice could be heard:  
“Good, my boy. Nearly perfect.”  
Opening his eyes, he startled as he was suddenly confronted with the boy from the picture, only that he was now just as tall as him, and nearly fell out of his chair. Only as his racing heart calmed down, did he realize that he was face to face with a mirror, and what he saw was actually himself. Suddenly more curious than frightened, he eyed his reflexion. Dumbledore had said “nearly” perfect, which meant that he must have missed to transform some part of himself. His eyes traced his new lips, which where thinner than his old pair, his nearly vanished cheekbones and the messy bangs that hung in his eyes. At least those were still their usual, radiant green and not that dull, boring shade of brown… realizing what he had missed, his eyes widened. His eyes still looked exactly the same as they always did. 

A small smile actually tugged at his lips. The rest of his new appearance felt so strange and uncomfortable, but at least a tiny part of himself still remained.

“Now,” Dumbledore continued “before I inform you about what your lessons will contain, we have to take care of another matter first.”  
Not knowing how to react, or if the Headmaster even expected a reply, Rhian nodded. Besides, he still felt weary and not like himself after his successful transformation. 

“While it is a good news that you have inherited the metamorphmagus trait from your mother, we need to make sure that your other ability is sealed away.”  
Rhian opened his mouth wanting to protest, but the Headmaster lifted a hand before he was able to say anything and asked gravely: “My boy, do you have any idea, what creature was in that box?”  
Frowning, Rhian shook his head. He had no idea and he also didn’t see how it mattered. He had just spoken with some kind of animal, what could be so bad about it that the ability needed to be restrained?

“The animal inside was a snake. It is a trait of Dark Wizarding Families to be able to communicate with snakes. They used them for evil purposes, like spying or murder by poison.”  
Blinking, Rhian stayed quiet. He knew it was horrible what he thought, but he could understand the wish to kill somebody. He often wished he could be strong enough to strangle his cousin until he moved no more, but knowing that Dumbledore would not understand him, he just waited for the old wizard to continue, which he soon did:

“You probably wonder now, and with good reason, how you obtained this ability, when you come from a pure, Light Family, a family of good people. I fear, the answer is as easy as worrying: When Lord Voldemort attacked, some of his Dark Magic must have crossed over to you, giving you this Dark Ability. Unfortunately, it does not only make you able to speak with snakes, which I am sure you would not misuse, but Dark Magic is also like a poison to a Light Wizard’s body. It will spread like a lethal disease and change your mind, character and soul. But do not fear, I will be able to contain the damage that has been done to you.”

Nodding slowly, Rhian agreed. He knew he had no other choice anyway, but the thought of losing this ability saddened him. He often saw small snakes in his family’s garden, and he had looked forward to a little chat and some distraction while he had to do his garden work. But Dumbledore knew much more about magic than he did, it surely would be for the best. Somehow, his inner voice didn’t sound convinced to his own ears, but the Headmaster was now standing up and motioning him to do the same.

“This may feel a little uncomfortable, and it will also tire you out, as your body will have to adjust to the spell inside your body. So after I have cast the spell, I will only inform you about the classes you will have from tomorrow onwards and then you may return home for the rest of the day...” 

Paling at the prospect of returning to his family so soon, Rhian quickly interrupted the old wizard; “Can’t you perform the spell later, sir? I want to start learning magic.”  
Even though he still wasn’t quite sure if he liked the Headmaster or not, it was nice to do something else other than chores, and also while away, his relatives couldn’t find a reason to punish him. 

“No, it will not do to overwhelm you. You have already learned a lot today and I am sure, your aunt and uncle are also eager to have you back by their side.”  
Lowering his head, Rhian hid his resigned face. Dumbledore wouldn’t change his mind unless he told the wizard his true reasons, and he would never do that. Firstly, because he felt too ashamed and secondly, because he didn’t trust the man enough.

Still in his thoughts, he was totally unprepared as he felt Dumbledore’s wand touch the crown of his head and he nearly toppled over as something utterly hot invaded his body. He felt as if he was burning from the inside. He felt his magic rise inside of him, as if trying to fight this invading power. For a moment, he felt as if he could win this battle, but then the hot force suddenly increased even further. He choked and gasped as his magic was compressed inside of him, but then the sensation settled down, and he could breathe again. 

Gulping in deep lungfuls of air, Rhian tried to calm himself down. Suddenly he remembered that first impression he have had of the wizard, that the plants were screaming because of some kind of heat surrounding him and he finally realized that this heat he had felt back then and just now, was the man’s magic. It didn’t feel Light and good to him, more like a smoldering, hot inferno that destroyed everything in its wake. But maybe he just reacted so violently, because of the Dark Magic that had infected his body? It had been quite a lot, as far as he had been able to sense it in the few seconds the spell had taken to lock it up.

His racing heart finally calmed down and with it, came the expected tiredness. He suddenly felt weak as a kitten and he quickly sat back down as his legs began to shake.  
“I believe we were just in time, my boy,” Dumbledore said as he did the same, but Rhian was too tired to answer and the old wizard just continued. “Tomorrow we will start your lessons with a little discussion about the differences between Light and Dark wizards and witches. It will help you understand even more why it is so important to defeat the Dark Lord and by doing so, remove the power from influential Dark Families and give it to deserving, Light Families.”  
Rhian nodded obediently again and the Headmaster continued once more:

“Further, you will receive special physical training from an old friend of mine, Alastor Moody. He is a Senior Auror. Aurors, in our world, are what Muggles would call their police. He will prepare you physically for your future encounter with Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort never cared much about techniques he perceived as ‘Muggle’, thus this training will give you a huge advantage over him.  
Lastly, you will also receive training from a former student of mine. She has just recently graduated and like you, she is a Metamorphmagus. She will help you control your gift and also teach you some basic knowledge about our world.”

Dumbledore then stood up with a smile that Rhian found not quite friendly. But that was not what made him frown. Was the Headmaster finished already? That couldn’t be all of his classes? Learning spells, becoming stronger physically and learning about this new world he apparently belonged into sounded all good and nice, but even with his seven years of age, he knew that he needed to learn many more things to live on his own later, when he was an adult and could finally leave the Dursleys.

When he was an adult, he would get important letters like his uncle and he would need to answer those letters or write e-mails, besides, he had always wanted to learn how to read all the interesting looking books which he had seen in the window of the Public Library. Sure, he would not get to go to his school any longer, but there were Public Libraries, one that was not so far away from his home even.

“What about reading and writing? And maths?”

Dumbledore gave him a long look, a look he could not yet interpret, but which didn’t give him a good feeling.  
“My boy, you have a higher goal to fulfil. Your time is too valuable to spend it with things as unimportant to your duty as writing and reading.”

“But how…” he began to protest, but to his annoyance he was cut off.  
“I will show you each spell you need to learn and explain the incantation to you, there will be no need for you to learn reading or writing. I promise you, you will not miss these abilities.”

Suddenly angry, Rhian balled his fists. He had hoped that his life would get better. That he would learn things that would make his life more fun, that he would be prepared to live his life on his own one day and not have to work like an animal for his relatives any longer, but it seemed that the Headmaster was only another person who wanted to use him.

He was so angry and disappointed that he wanted to scream and hit the old wizard, but knowing from his life with his relatives what the consequences for such behavior would be, and not trusting the man to not do the same, he just stood up, turned around and walked over to the fireplace. 

As he walked the few steps, he tried to stand as straight as possible and to not let it show how hurt he truly was. He had long since learned that showing emotions would get him no hug or pity. Just like his smiles and laughter caused his uncle to pull out his belt and not laugh with him.

“Can I return to my family then?” he asked instead.

“In a moment, my boy,” Dumbledore answered and Rhian watched suspiciously as he pulled out a piece of paper, wrote down something, put it into an envelope and then came over to give it to him. 

“This is for your aunt,” the Headmaster said, before pulling out a small, red and golden valved bag. “This is floo powder. Do you remember what you have to do and say to get here?”

Taking the bag, he answered automatically: “I have to throw it into my aunt’s fireplace and call ‘Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts’.”  
“Correct. Now, I expect that you can change your eye color to brown by tomorrow, and do not change back when you arrive home. It is important that people think that you are a true Potter. It would not be good if some wizard or witch saw you looking different. Your lessons will start at ten every day. Have a good afternoon.” 

Relieved that he was finally allowed to go, Rhian took some of the floo powder from the bag, threw it into the red flames which instantly turned green, called out the address of his aunt and uncle and only hesitated a second before stepping into the floo all alone for the first time. 

Without the Headmaster’s help, he basically fell out of the fireplace at the other end and was greeted by a high pitched scream.  
“My carpet! My precious carpet! Get up you filthy boy and why do you look like that? Vernon! Vernon!

He had no time to prepare himself as his uncle came stumbling into the living room, his favourite belt already in his meaty fist.  
“What have you done now, boy? Adding more work to your poor aunt’s schedule?”  
The first hit landed in the middle of his back and ripped his shirt and skin right open. He screamed in agony and tried desperately to scramble away, but his uncle cut his way off and just struck out again. Soon his uncle had gained a merciless rhythm and Rhian could not tell any longer where the pain started and where it ended. One of his ears was bleeding, the belt had cut into the skin there and ripped it half way off and breathing became almost as painful as the hits themselves.

Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours and as Rhian feared he would pass out any second now, his uncle stopped, heaving like a stranded whale.

“And now change back to your normal appearances. We don’t want your freakishness in our house!”  
Whimpering, Rhian tried to answer, but he must have bitten down on his lip or tongue during the beating, because his mouth was full of blood and out came only a strange gurgle. When he didn’t manage to answer quick enough, his uncle struck out once more, yelling: “Change back, now!” 

Panicked, he let the blood flow out of the corner of his mouth and gasped: “I am not allowed to… Professor Dumbledore…”

“I don’t care what the freak of a Professor told you, do you hear, boy? You are living under my roof, eating my food, you will do as I tell you!”

Despite knowing what the consequence would be of the answer he had to give,Rhian shook his head. He would have to endure another round, but surely, even if the wizard just wanted to use him to defeat that Dark Lord, he was still one of the good people and would help him with his aunt and uncle when he told him about his punishment tomorrow.

“No, you say? Wait… I will teach you!” roared his uncle and Rhian could do nothing more that to curl into a tight ball and wait until his second punishment was over.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

****  
  
_Rhian smiled in his sleep. Someone was singing to him with the voice of an angel. “Mother” he thought, warmth filling his heart and soul._  


Just then his alarm clock went off, yanking him brutally from his beautiful dream. Sighing, he opened his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’s had this dream. In fact, he often had similar dreams, they only differed in what kind of parent he would have. He was never able to make out their faces, but besides the angel like woman, he sometimes also dreamed about a man with black locks or another with an unruly nest of brown hair. His favorite dreams by far were those of that elegant, black haired young man. In his dream he had green eyes, just like he himself (it was the only feature he could ever make out) and it was his favourite because they were the most details and various. 

Sometimes the man was just calling him “son” and lifting him up into his strong, protective arms, other times he read out to him, took him outside into a beautiful garden or played some lullaby on the piano for him. 

In those dreams his life was so different from everything he knew in reality. The black haired man even had a study where a row of childish, self-drawn pictures hung on the walls and Rhian just knew that he had drawn them for his father. 

Sighing, he turned onto his side and finally turned the alarm clock off that his aunt had given him so that she would not have to get up herself to wake him so that he could finish with his chores from the previous day and start with those of the present one. 

He had not been able to finish all his work the previous evening. His body had hurt too much, he had barely been able to breath and walk and his head had pounded painfully after the spell Dumbledore had cast on him. 

He also had no time to practice changing his eye color, but reminded himself that Dumbledore was one of the nice people, he had great faith that the old wizard would understand.

Grinding his teeth together, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The pain had lessened, but it was not yet gone. It had luckily always been like that after an especially hard beating. Maybe it was his magic which healed him? He wasn’t quite sure if wizards could heal with the help of their magic, but it was the only explanation that made sense. 

He took longer than normal to get dressed in one of his handed-down, and far too large trousers and t-shirt, but he hurried as much as he could and ten minutes later, he was down in the kitchen, only to ball his fists in disappointment when he saw that the slice of toast his aunt had placed for him on the table the evening before, so that Dumbledore could not accuse them if he brought back bad results, had vanished and only a few crumbs were left. 

Dudley must have eaten it, even though his cousin hated dry toast, as he had learned when his cousin had caught a stomach bug last year, but he hated it even more when Rhian got something, even if it was only a singular slice of toast. He could only hope that his cousin had not also emptied the rest of the package, or he surely would be blamed once he returned in the evening. 

Sighing in resignation, because in the end, he wouldn’t be able to change it anyway, he left the kitchen and went outside to water the plants. However, in contrast to all the other times, he could not enjoy the chore. Instead it made him depressed as he came to realise that with the binding on his Dark Magic, his ability to communicate and sense animals and all things growing, had also disappeared.  
After he had returned inside, he sorted the laundry and started the first wash load of at least three he would have to wash today and then set the kitchen table, so that his aunt would only have to fry the eggs and bacon. He also managed to clean the floors of the lower level, one of the chores he had not done yesterday, so when he came back, he would only have to clean them once more and not twice. Fortunately it was his uncle’s short working day, where he only started after lunch break, otherwise, he would not have been able to do the floors, as his relatives would have been downstairs already. 

However, when he had finished that task as well, it was already time to floo to his lessons. He sighed at the thought that he would have to weed in the evening. Hopefully he would be back before it got dark, or he would have to work with a flashlight which always resulted in him needing more time for the chore as he could only be able to use one hand for the weeding, while the other held the light. 

So he went into the living room, took some of the floo powder and floo’ed into the Headmaster’s office.  
The Professor was sitting behind his huge desk, but looked up as he scrambled back to his feet after his harsh landing.

He fidgeted a little under the scrutinizing stare, knowing that Dumbledore would see the huge bruise that had formed around his left ear but to his disappointment the Professor merely remarked: “I see, you have not practiced your Metamorphmagus skills. I have to say I am disappointed.”

“Professor, I wasn’t able to practice… my aunt and uncle grew really mad when they saw my changed appearance. They don’t want my…” he hesitated a moment as he felt a flush rise in his cheeks, but he forced himself to go on. He would never get help if he didn’t tell anyone about his true home life. “...they don’t want my freakish ways in their house…”  
Dumbledore regarded him with yet another of those long glances, and Rhian held his breath. This was it. He had never trusted an adult with this secret, not after the threats of his relatives, but Dumbledore was good and strong….

Finally the Headmaster said: “I am sad to hear that.”  
Rhian’s heart skipped a beat, but his frail hope was instantly shattered in the next moment. “However,” the Professor continued “Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, even from one as young as you. Maybe it is even a good thing. They will harden you, what does not kills us only strengthens us, my boy.”

Rhian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His fists balled as rage quickly rose inside of him and replaced the hope he had clung on to. A loud, buzzing sound filled his ears and for a second or a minute, he could not hear what the old coot in front of him was saying as his vision turned red and he didn’t want to listen anyway. Dumbledore, he realized, was not the slightest bit nicer or better than the Dursleys. The man was just as selfish and exploiting as his relatives.

But he would not allow it any longer, he would be exploited no more. From now on, he swore to magic, the only thing in his life he held dear, he would be the one using them. He would play along for now, and make sure that he would learn as much as possible from the old wizard, before stabbing him in his old back. He would listen to every word the Headmaster would tell him, but not believe any of it, however, he would use them to find out the truth and a path for himself, a parth where he could finally be himself and live in peace. 

He felt a mask sliding over his face and a calmness covering his mind. The sounds came back as he automatically nodded to whatever question Dumbledore had just asked. He walked over to the chair he had sat in yesterday and sat down. The old coot, now looking far more pleased again, did the same opposite of him, pulled out his wand and conjured something.

It took Rhian a moment to come back to reality and realize that he was meant to look at whatever it was. Dumbledore had conjured another childhood picture, now of a beautiful teenage girl with flaming red hair and mossy green eyes.

“...then you will tell everybody that you have inherited your eye color from your mother. It will also work for our purpose, she was widely loved and admired…” Dumbledore was saying. However, Rhian found no similarity between his eyes and the witches. They both were green, but otherwise as widely apart as two shades of green could be. His mother’s were of a dark, slightly dull shade, like moss in a forest, while his were bright and vivid, like young leaves or that one gem he had once seen in the widow of a shopping centre as he had accompanied his aunt to carry her bags. In fact, his mother’s and his eyes were as similar in looks as he and his father had been before his transformation. In fact, if his aunt had not always ranted about her “useless waste of a sister” and the “useless freak she had married” he would not believed that those two had truly been his parents, but as it was, he had no reason to do so, and if the lie meant he could keep his eye color, he would play along. 

“Now,” Dumbledore continued, and he quickly redirected his attention back to the wizard. “Let us finally start with your first lesson. We have about one and a half hours left until Professor Tonks will arrive and I have a lot to explain to you. Listen well.”

Nodding again, Rhian leaned back in his chair and waited for the old coot to continue.

“Light and Dark witches and wizards have been very different from the very beginning. Two opposites of one coin, I would say, if it did not mean that Dark wizards belong in the world. But they do not and that is very important for you to realize. 

Dark magic arose from magical people who in their greed and egoism, twisted magic and her boundaries. They use cruel rituals with blood and living sacrifices to reach their material and self-centered goals. They do not care about the lives they sacrifice in the process, and over the centuries they have become addicted to power, death and causing pain. 

Today there are many Dark spells and curses, all so very addictive, that using only one of them can mean your immediate fall, if one does not have an especially strong mind.”  
Dumbledore paused, and even though he could not believe that an entire group of people could be so inherently evil, but knowing that he needed to sound interested, he put a curious, but also worried expression on his face (at least he hoped that it was what his face looked like now) and asked:  
“How can I recognize them if they are so evil?”

He snorted inwardly. True, he knew better than most children that there were people who were truly evil, how could he not with the Dursleys as his guardians and now Dumbledore as his teacher? But most were just ignorant, or frightened of repercussions and thus turned a blind eye to everything unusual that was happening in their surroundings. 

No, he had never believed in that ‘Great Evil’ which could possess people and which the priest always talked about in the church on Sundays.

“A good question, my boy. There are two types of them and fortunately they are mostly easy to distinguish.”

He continued to look curiously and eagerly at the Headmaster, waiting for the old coot’s probably very prejudiced explanation. Somehow, Dumbledore reminded him of his aunt, whenever she talked about that “worthless daughter of Mrs. Poole” who had fallen pregnant last year, despite being only sixteen and all young mothers in general.

“The first kind of Dark witches and wizards are those who are not able to handle the Dark Magic they try to wield. In turn, they become deranged and mentally unstable. They are prone to sudden, explosive outbursts of anger and paranoia. To word it bluntly; they are just as you would imagine a crazy person. The second kind are those, who have succeeded in mastering the Dark Power. They are often ambitious and sly, back-stabers, you could call them. They plan and operate behind the scenes. They usually show no emotions, as due to the use of Dark Magic, they slowly become unable to feel even basic human emotions like love. Therefore, unlike like wizards who care about their family and friends, they hold no one and nothing dear besides their own goals.”

Rhian wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, just like in those cartoons his cousin likes to watch, where the villain was always some dark, ugly, crazy and heartless man. 

His first lesson continued for a few endless minutes in the same fashion; with Dumbledore prattling on and on about differences which, in the old coot’s opinion, made Dark wizards evil, and in his own opinion cunning and intelligent. It didn’t go past his notice that some of the traits and tactics the Headmaster described, where ones he as well possessed or had decided on, but he said nothing and just continued to listen attentively, even though he was quickly getting bored. He had hoped that he would at least learn some fact, surely magical people must have something like the muggle science? Or maybe the old coot thought he was still too young or too silly for real facts?

Whatever the reason, the lesson finally came to a end as an old grandfather clock chimed somewhere in the office and Dumbledore came to an halt.

“My, my, so late already? Time really flies. Your next Professor will arrive soon and I have to go downstairs and watch over lunch.”

The Headmaster rose to his feet and Rhian’s stomach chose that moment to announce its emptiness. However, after this morning, he did not expect to get fed during his school day any longer and said nothing, and just as expected, the old coot ignored the noise, gave him a false grandfatherly smile and left the office.

For a split second he wondered what he was supposed to do until the other professor arrived, but his attention was diverted when first the sound of rustling and shuffling and then of murmuring rose in the air. Confused, he looked around to see whether there was someone else, or better yet, a group of other people, because he could make out quite a lot of different voices, male as well as female. 

By chance, his eyes landed on the wall opposite of him. He smiled as he realized that it was the portraits he had seen the day before who were whispering. However, now that the Headmaster was not in the room any longer, they clearly did not try and hold back their curiosity.

“So,” a plump witch with grey curls finally decided to address him. “You are Harry Potter?”  
“Yes, Mam’” he retorted as politely as possible. He hated nosy people, they reminded him too much of his aunt, especially if they were female. 

“He doesn’t look like much, I cannot even sense his magic,” grunted an obese bald wizard, dressed in an expensive red and gold cloak with fur lining. 

Another wizard snorted. “Of course not, he is only seven years old. It is already impressive that Albus can teach him at all. Just think how developed the core of magical children usually are at his age.”

“I certainly hope you are right,” grunted the obese one.

“Actually, you are both wrong,” a female portrait suddenly said, the plate beneath her frame proclaimed her name had been Healer Dilys Derwent, Headmistress from 1741 to 1768.  
(Not that Rhian could read it). It instantly made him weary after she made her introduction. Would the portrait of a Healer be able to see his abuse? 

“I can sense traces of magical binding on him. What has the old fool done to you?”

“He bound some Dark Powers I have accidentally gotten from some Evil Wizard,” he replied truthfully, too glad that she had only picked up on that fact and nothing more, to think about his words. However, he had not predicted the reaction he would get. A couple of portraits gasped and a haggard looking man exclaimed: “A Dark Wizard? Who had let you into Hogwarts.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” a small wizard with a ring of white curls and a neatly trimmed beard framing his jawline piped in, before he turned to Rhian.  
“Please excuse the rudeness of my colleagues. We are the former Headmasters of Hogwarts, you surely wondered already. I think it would only be correct of us to introduce ourselves. I am Headmaster Dippet.”  
Rhian gave the Headmaster a friendly smile and a wave, but as portrait after portrait adjusted their robes and said his or her name, his thoughts began to drift. He only snapped back to attention, as a smooth and cold sounding voice sounded.  
“Phineas Nigellus Black.” The wizard who had spoken had combed back, shoulder long wavy black hair which was streaked with silver strands. His dark blue eyes were piercing as knives, and unlike the other former Headmasters and Headmistresses, his robes were neat and completely black with the exception of a silver waistcoat beneath his outer robe. 

Somehow, Rhian instantly liked the portrait. He was different from all the other bumbling witches and wizards. He seemed more intelligent and reasonable.  
“Good morning, Sir,” he retorted, but the portrait only eyed him silently for a long moment. Finally, as he was about to start fidgeting under the scrutinizing stare, Phineas spoke again: “You are doing well, my boy and you certainly have made the right decision. Never forget, knowledge is always power, regardless of where or how you obtained it.”

“Stop spouting your Dark propaganda, no one wants to listen to it, Black!” A former Headmaster, who had not yet introduced himself, shouted, but Rhian did not listen to him any further. His mind had frozen at the words “Dark propaganda”, so, did that mean that Phineas had been a Dark Wizard? Now truly curious, he glanced up, trying to find indications of the things Dumbledore had told him. And yes, the wizard’s face was rather emotionless and he also seemed like the ambitious type, but the latter fit himself as well and was that truly so bad? Also, there certainly was no craziness in the man’s eyes.  
“Thank you,” he smiled, unknowingly, one of the corners of his mouth stretched a little higher, transforming his smile into a smirk. 

Their short exchanged ended as a roar suddenly sounded. He turned in surprise; he saw Dumbledore’s fireplace blazing green and a second later a young witch, with bubbly pink, spiked hair and an outfit that reminded him of the muggle punks that were always hanging around the nearest bus stop at Privet Drive, stumbled out of the hearth with a curse. 

However, before he realized who that person could be, he was distracted by a sound that was something between a disgusted huff and a sneering hiss. Turning back around to Phineas, he saw that the portrait was looking down at the witch with repulsion written all over his features. He threw the former Headmaster a questioning glance, who answered: “This, is the dirty Halfblood daughter of one of my less worthy descendants.” 

“Oh shut up, Phineas!” the witch snapped and he turned back around, just in time to see her straightening after having dusted her skirt off. In the next moment her whole expression changed, her dark scowl transformed into a bright smile and within two long steps she was standing right in front of him: “Wotcher, you must be Harry! Great to finally see you. You know, you are kind of a hero for all Aurors,” she prattled in an awful speed. Rhian, who still was stuck at the thought that this woman apparently belonged to the wizarding police, a job he mentally connected with stern and trustworthy people and not someone so ‘pink’ and ‘bubbly’, didn’t process even half of it, but automatically accepted the stretched out hand, only to get his own nearly shaken off.

“I know, I know, it probably sounds stupid to you, after all, you were a baby back then, but Dumbledore will make a real hero out of you and I am so excited to be part of your training! But now, let’s start,” she continued, walked over to the overly plushy and mismatched sitting area that was located in the left corner of Dumbledore’s office, threw her shoulder bag down and let herself fall onto the couch. 

Rhian followed hesitantly. Somehow he wasn’t sure how he felt about the witch. She seemed nice enough, but she also was far too loud and ‘colorful’ for his liking. However, she must have noticed his hesitation, because she waved him over with a bright smile and said: “You don’t need to be afraid Harry. My name is Tonks, by the way. No need to add a Professor or some such nonsense, I am just out of Hogwarts myself. I am not even finished with my Second Year of Auror training, so no need for formalities. You will get that enough with Moody.”

“Um… okay,” he agreed awkwardly and finally sat down opposite of her.  
“So, I am here for two things: Firstly, to help you control and nurture your Metamorphmagus ability and secondly, to tell you a bit about Magical History. Don’t worry, I will not be as boring as Professor Binns,” she giggled and then proceeded to pull a pile of cards out of her pocket, not even noticing Rhian’s confused look at the mentioning of a professor he didn’t even know. 

“Now,” she continued, finally slowing down a little. “Changing your appearance as a Metamorphmagus is all about imagination. The more detailed a picture is in your mind is, the closer your magic will be able to imitate it. We will start easily. This,” she explained and pointed to the stack of cards, turning one around and revealing a picture of short, grass green hair “are pictures with different varieties your appearance can change into. For now we concentrate on teaching you how to transform the different parts of your body, before moving on to more complex personas. Do you want to give it a shot?”

Rhian wondered if Dumbledore hadn’t told her that he had already succeeded in changing his appearance completely. Deciding that he wouldn’t ask about it, just in case Dumbledore would not want her to know, which would mean risking another punishment by the Dursleys, he just nodded and examined the card for a few seconds, before he closed his eyes and concentrated on the image in his mind. 

After having gotten the hang on it yesterday, his magic rose quickly to his command and he could feel his hair withdrawing into his skull, shortening even further.  
“Wow! You’re a real natural at this!” Tonks exclaimed and he snapped his eyes back open. She conjured a small mirror and Rhian could actually see that he truly had succeeded this one his first try this time. Smiling in excitement, he stretched his hand out for a second card, only halting shortly to wait for an approving nod and proceeded to change his appearance further. 

For the next couple of minutes his lesson proceeded in a comfortable, relaxed atmosphere, with him changing his hairstyle two more times, his nose once and his eyes three times, until Tonks apparently decided that he could handle the second part of her lessons as well and began to tell him with some pictures and worshipful words about Godric Gryffindor, the Founder of the House his parents had been in. 

He listened attentively, glad to learn a little bit more about the wizarding world, but couldn’t help himself by thinking that the late Knight sounded like a great bumbling airhead who rushed thoughtlessly into situations to defend ideals which were too unrealistic to ever be fulfilled completely. 

The lesson came to a very abrupt end when Dumbledore's Grandfather Clock chimed again and his new Professor suddenly jumped up from the couch.  
“Oh no, I forgot the time!” She exclaimed, swished her wand and making her cards gather in her pocket. “You have Moody next and he doesn't like lateness. By the way, do you already know some Healing Spells? You will need them once Alastor is through with you.”

“Can you teach me one?” Rhian perked up, thinking that a Healing Spell was something he really could use.  
Tonks seemed a bit surprised by his eagerness, but she shrugged and nodded. “Sure,” she said and Rhian waited patiently as she drew her wand and pondered something for a second.  
“I think the Episky Charm should be powerful enough, Moody won’t go all the way with you,” she continued and showed him the correct wand movement. 

“But now we have to hurry,” she pointed out once he had successfully healed a small cut which he he had gotten as he had cut his aunt’s roses last week. “I still have to show you where your next lesson will take place.” 

Rhian’s eyes widened as he watched her going to the office door and opening it. He had thought that he was not allowed to actually leave the office and see Hogwarts. However, his curiosity only lasted for a few minutes, as he realized that Tonks was just leading him down to the floor below the office, into a totally deserted corridor. Dust was hanging from torch holders and the windows to his right were actually so dirty that he couldn’t see through them. 

Nearly at the end he saw light leaking out from under the closed door and that was where Tonks led him to, before entering without knocking.  
“Good afternoon, Sir,” he heard her greeting someone and the voice that answered sounded oddly raspy. “Good morning, Tonks. Did you bring the kid?”  
“Yes, he is…” she answered, stepped to the side and revealed the view to the most disfigured man Rhian had ever seen. He tried not to flinch, but as an odd, electric blue eye focused in on him, he was sure that he had shown some reaction.

For a long second he could do nothing else other than stare at the face that was not only missing an eye, but also a piece of the man’s nose. Moody’s dirty blonde hair was starting to grey, weary and uncombed like the mane of a shaggy lion. One foot was also missing, or maybe half of his leg, but Rhian could only see a wooden stump peeking out from under a heavy leather coat. There was also a gnarled cane leaning against the desk next to him which made Rhian shiver at the mere sight of the tool. He didn’t want to imagine how much pain this caine could cause, it seemed worse than uncle Vernon’s belt.

“Don’t be so shy boy and come in. I am one of the good people, an Auror. You know what that is?” Moody suddenly addressed him and Rhian quickly stepped into the room, nodding in affirmation.  
“Don’t be so harsh with him, Sir. He is only seven,” Tonks recommended her boss lightly, but Moody only grunted and continued.  
“I am here to get you in shape and teach you some professional duelling moves,” the old Auror paused and Rhian stiffened as he was thoroughly examined from head to toe. He wanted to squirm, he never liked such strong attention on him, but he forced himself to straighten and stand quietly.

Moody reminded him of a soldier, and he knew enough about soldiers to be aware that they liked a good posture. After some more agonizing moments, the Auror finally said: “We have a lot to do. Better get started. Tonks, you can leave now. I will see you this evening at training.”  
Tonks saluted, before turning on her heels and leaving him alone with the scary Auror, who sat down on a small desk, the only piece of furniture inside the room, with the exception of three strange puppets standing in front of the right wall. 

“Now, listen boy. What we will be doing is strengthening your physical fitness and your reflexes. I will use a mixture of traditional workout training and specialized Auror training. We will start with your stamina,” Moody explained, stood up and limped into the middle of the room, where he proceeded to pull his wand out and mutter a spell Rhian had not yet heard. At first he thought that the spell hadn’t worked, as nothing had been conjured or changed, but then he saw that the floor in front of him was moving like a muggle treadmill. 

When he didn’t jump onto the moving piece of floor immediately, Moody barked: “Get started, boy,” making him actually flinch this time. He quickly obliged, fearing the heavy cane the Auror was leaning on. 

“Thirty minutes,” his new tutor grunted and limped back to the desk, where he proceeded to sit down again and watch Rhian for the entire half hour. 

Luckily he had always been a good and persistent runner, thanks to the nearly daily ‘training’ he got from his cousin and gang of kindergarten friends. ‘Harry Hunting’ had always been one of their favorite free time activities, and while Dudley couldn’t run even if his life depended on it, one of his friends was quite quick and lasting. 

Therefore, as Moody finally stopped him, he felt only a little flushed but not actually tired.  
“You are better than I expected,” Moody pointed out and made his way over to the puppets.  
“Dumbledore gave me a list of spells he has already taught you. These are dummies the Auror department uses for training. They will try to block your spell with a shield when you use an Offensive Hex and attack when u use a Defensive one. Later, I can even charm them to strike back and duel with you, but we will leave that for some other time.” 

Rhian watched as Moody pulled his wand out once more and pointed it at the puppet that stood in the middle. The dummy shivered and lifted a hand that was clutching a rather plain looking wand.

Moody stepped to the side, so that he could move in front of the target and ordered: “Reducto!”  
He needed a second to realize what his Professor wanted from him, but then cast the spell quickly. 

A shimmering blue shield appeared in front of the dummy and his spell was reflected. His eyes widened as it came shooting back at him and he quickly stepped to the side to avoid being hit. Hadn’t Moody said the Puppet wouldn’t retaliate yet?  
“Stronger! You will never stop an opponent with such a weak Reducto!” Moody barked and he quickly repeated his spell. This time, he let more of his magic flow into his wand arm, fortunately the Metamorphmagus lessons had taught him enough control to at least conduct his magical flow, and the red beam that came shooting out of his wand time was much broader and darker.

The spell shot through the shield, hit the dummy and Moody shouted:  
“Alarte Ascendare!”  
Making sure that he put enough force into the spell from the beginning, he cast and the dummy flew high up into the air, where it turned once before falling back down and landing perfectly in its old spot.

“Confringo!” The Auror barked and Rhian blasted the dummy against the wall. It went on in this fashion for more than three hours. In the end, Rhian was exhausted from the constant use of magic and the relentless moving around the dummy. 

He was relieved when Moody brought him back to Dumbledore and the old wizard announced that he could return to his relatives for the day.


	2. An Unexpected Tutor (Second Year - Part I)

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_(Rhian aged 8)_

His steps echoed wetly as he ran down the long, broad pipe that opened up in front of him. The ground beneath him was covered by a thin layer of water, dirt and the bones of small animals.

This was the second “training mission” Dumbledore was sending him on. He had learned a lot in the past year, at least in regards to spells and “information” about their enemies, the Dark Wizards and Witches.

He scoffed inwardly; it had become even clearer that the old coot wanted to keep him under his thumb, teaching him nothing that could help him to grow into a self-sufficient person. Unfortunately, he had yet to find a way as to how to gain more knowledge. It wasn’t easy without being able to read or write and the Headmaster never let him out of his sight for long if one of his other tutors was not close, but Phineas reminded him to stay patient whenever they managed a few undisturbed words. It didn’t happen often, as for that to happen each of the other portraits had to be asleep, otherwise they would have eavesdroppers, or even worse; portraits who shouted at the former Headmaster to stop polluting his mind with his evil theories.

It also didn’t matter what Phineas was trying to tell or ask him, in the minds of the other former Headmasters and Headmistresses, even asking about the weather had to follow a twisted plot, trying to draw him over to the ‘Dark Side’.

He saw a wall rising only a few meters away from him and slowed down until he came to a stop. With a sigh of relief he noticed that he had taken the right path by following the animal bones.

There was a huge metal portal in the middle of the wall, clearly guarded by more magical animated snake carvings.

 _“Open!”_ he hissed commandingly and just as upstairs, in that run down girls toilet, the snakes obeyed and started moving.

As soon as a gap wide enough to let him through had opened, he continued on his way. If this “training mission” would turn out anything like the one last year, he wanted to get it done quickly and return home.

It hadn’t really surprised him that the Dark Lord had truly still been alive, but what had shocked him had been the impact the meeting had on him. Even in that ghostly, weakened state, his skin had tingled with the power the spirit had radiated. And then he had made a mistake; he had killed the Professor the Dark Lord had possessed and also the spirit, or maybe he had only chased him away, which wasn’t much better, because as soon as Lord Voldemort had vanished, he had noticed that during their brief interaction a connection must have built which had been severed then.

Looking back at the event, he still felt like cursing himself. He didn’t understand what had happened and he knew he could not ask Dumbledore for an explanation. Of course, he couldn’t be sure if the Dark Lord would have an answer, or if he would answer one of his many questions about the ‘Dark Side’; they were enemies after all, even though that concept still felt strange to him, especially after said encounter.

No, he didn’t feel like killing Lord Voldemort, he never truly had, he had only accepted Dumbledore’s offer to become stronger, but after meeting the Dark Lord he only felt curious. He doubted that it was the outcome the old coot had planned when sending him after that Professor, but he had never told the Headmaster that he felt annoyed and just ‘wrong’ in the proximity of the Light Witch or the two Light Wizards he knew.

But maybe, just maybe if he was lucky enough, the Heir of Slytherin would be able to answer a few of his questions before he had to kill him? But to find out, he had to find that guy first, so he blinked a few times and concentrated on the room he had just entered.

The first thing he noticed was that “room” was definitely the wrong word. Chamber, was clearly more fitting, but he had expected another long pipe after the small portal and not to stumble directly into Salazar Slytherin’s secret hall.

He scanned the gloomy chamber in front of him, taking in the detailed carved snakes that lined the long walls to both sides of him, until his eyes landed onto a gigantic statue opposite of him. There, towering in gigantic glory stood nothing other than a gigantic marble statue of the infamous founder. His eyes were sharp as a hawk’s, his chin strong and pronounced with a pointy goatee, his long hair fell in elegant curls down to his shoulders and his robes were decorated richly. He could only imagine what the wizard had been like during his life.

“Well, well, well, who has taken on the long journey to meet me so far below the foundations of Hogwarts? A pawn of Dumbledore?”

Harry’s head snapped up and a shiver went down his back at the sound of a dark baritone, seemingly coming out of nowhere. It sent shivers down his spine, as a feeling of recognition washed over him. Instantly, some of the tension left his body and he searched the darkness for the man. His heart skipped a beat as he could find nothing and the organ in his chest seemed to quiver as if it was about to break. Then, finally, a figure stepped out of the shadows that loomed beneath the statue.

It was a man, maybe in his mid twenties, but he had never been good in guessing ages. He could instantly see why this man had to be the Heir of Salazar Slytherin; their features were so much alike. Just like the founder, this man possessed sharp, high cheekbones, hawk-like eyes, perfectly shaped thin lips and eyebrows (although the latter were not as bushy as those of his ancestor) and broad shoulders. There were also a few differences. The man was leaner and the curls had lessened to soft waves; also, he had no facial hair.

The man stalked towards him, in a way that made Harry feel like prey for a moment, but then the nervousness was once again washed away by the sense of familiarity and replaced by a strong urge to run into the man’s arms and embrace him. But something was rooting him in place, it was the prickling sensation, which reminded him more and more of Lord Voldemort with every step the man took, even though it seemed somehow ‘weaker’.

Finally the other man came to a halt in front of him and gave him something he could only describe as an evil smirk, but it vanished as soon as their eyes met and the stranger froze. His features went vacant for a moment, but it was over within a split second, so quickly indeed, that Harry would have thought that he must have imagined it if it were not replaced by a look of wonder. Relief filled Harry; apparently the man recognized him as well and would be able to tell him where they had met before. Fantasies of packing his few belongings and going with the man to a nice house where he would have his own, nice room and as much food as he wanted filled his mind; but then the strangers expression changed again, morphing into a steely, suspicious mask. Harry knew that look. His aunt always wore it when she was suspicious that he had done something.

“My,” he said and leaned forwards, making Harry’s muddled emotions intensify.  
“The old fool truly has to be desperate to send someone so young after me…” he paused for a moment, watching Harry intensely, before he continued: “It’s almost a pity…”  
A tight feeling suddenly constricted Harry’s throat as all his hopes vanished and he quickly lowered his head to hide the single tear that had spilled over. Only when he was sure that it had dried, did he look up again to glare at the stranger in defiance.

“You are such a cute child. I am sure you would grow into a handsome…” the man continued, an evil smile stretching his previously smooth features. By now, one of those long, and perfectly manicured fingers were nearly touching Harry’s face and suddenly feeling desperate to feel the connection between them again, he closed his eyes, hope against hope that the finger which was moving closer and closer to his face, would be enough to reinforce it again. Then the finger connected with his skin and a flood of emotions crashed into him; the familiarity came back, even stronger than before, but there was also a deep trust, security and warmth, emotions he had never felt before but had always imagined the hug of a mother would feel like.

Automatically, he tried to press his cheek into the hand that was connected to the digit and to his surprise the other did not pull away. The touch was strangely cold, like touching a ghost he would imagine to feel, but he didn’t mind, not after the many years without any human touch. For a long, blissful moment, Harry stood there, just enjoying the first nice human contact in his life. The fingers began to caress his cheek softly and his eyelids fluttered as if they wanted to open and made him see the man that was holding him so tenderly, before settling back down again, letting him just relish in the sensation.

“Tell me your name, little one,” the man’s voice spoke up, soft and soothing, but as Harry looked up to him, he saw that the stranger was frowning slightly. Not liking the expression on the nice man’s face, Harry searched the man’s green eyes, which reminded him strongly of someone, but unfortunately he couldn’t remember of whom. It irked him somewhat fiercely, because his gut was telling him that it was something important, something he really should remember. Then their gazes connected and a searing pain surged through his scar and head. Gasping, he stumbled backwards, but before he could fall, a strong hand grabbed him and steadied him again.

“It is true then,” the man whispered in a strange, far-away sounding voice, but in the next moment, Harry could see how he snapped back to reality, and then started moving with fluid, swift and purposeful motions. Before he knew what was happening a chaise lounge appeared a bit to the side and the man was walking over, pocketing a strange looking white wand on his way and sitting down, before motioning for Harry to come over.

Harry didn’t hesitate for a moment, his hope had returned once again and he was so desperate to feel something other than the constant loneliness.  
To his surprise, as he came to a halt in front of the stranger, he was picked up and settled down next to him. The man’s strong arm reached around his shoulders and drew him closer, so that Harry, after the man had reclined comfortably against the arm rest, could snuggle up next to him, which he did without losing any time. Not even the unnatural coolness of the wizard was a problem after going a lifetime without any kind human touch...

“Please, excuse my initial rudeness; I have failed to introduce myself. My name is Marvolo Zanden Slytherin, Heir of the Great and Noble Founder Salazar Slytherin. And now tell me your name.”

“My Name is Harry, Harry James Potter,” Harry answered without hesitation, but felt a bit confused as Mr. Slytherin made a disgusted sound.  
“Harry James, that is not a name worthy of a noble and powerful child like you,” Mr. Slytherin sneered.

Following a sudden impulse, Harry said: “You can give me another name if you want?” As he realized what he had just offered he blushed, but he did not take his words back. He did not feel connected to the name Harry, even though his parents had given it to him. Maybe it was because Dumbledore always called him by it, or maybe even because he still didn’t feel connected to the images of his mother and father, but he truly didn’t care for his name.  
Mr. Slytherin’s left eyebrow had lifted and he was looking at him with a strange expression Harry could not decipher, but after another second had ticked by, the man inclined his head and accepted. “Then I shall call you Rhian from now on.”

Nodding, Rhian asked: “Is Rhian your favorite name or something?”  
“It is. It was the name of someone very dear to me and you remind me strongly of him. Thus you shall carry his name with the appropriate honor it deserves. Now, tell me some news about Hogwarts. You must have some information about the school, even though you look too young to be a student yet, but as you clearly have been sent down here by Dumbledore, you must know at least some of the things that are going on these days.”

Snuggling deeper into the embrace, Harry, no he was Rhian now, had to think for a moment to find an answer in his mind. The feel of the body next to him, the hand that was softly combing through his hair and especially the feeling of security had made his mind a bit sluggish and his eyes had started to drift shut. However, he wanted to give the man who had just given him a name that truly felt as if it was a name meant just for him, an answer, so he forced his eyes back open. Unfortunately, he couldn’t answer the first question.

“I… don’t know,” he mumbled barely audibly, feeling embarrassed about how ignorant he was

“You don’t know? How is that possible? You are being trained by Dumbledore, correct?”  
Nodding, Rhian bit on his bottom lip, a nervous habit he had developed while especially hungry and told Mr. Slytherin: “Dumbledore only let’s me out of his office to go to my combat lessons with Professor Moody and my Metamorphmagus Professor comes up to me so that I don’t have to leave for two classes.”

Unconsciously, his shoulders had stiffened during his explanation as something inside of him could not forget the many beatings he had gotten in the past for a bad answer, but when Mr. Slytherin didn’t answer after a while, he carefully glanced up. The man’s eyes were glazing with some kind of emotion, but as he finally replied, he sounded eager:

“You are a Metamorphmagus? Show me your true appearance.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Rhian didn’t mind the commanding tone he had the feeling that it was just something in Mr. Slytherin’s character, something he was just used to and did not mean it unkindly like his relatives did.

However, Dumbledore’s warning still rang in his ears, so he hesitated for a moment and then asked carefully:  
“Will you help me change back into this appearance later?”

The frown was instantly back on Mr. Slytherin’s face and Rhian ducked his head as the man asked: “Why would you want to look like someone else?”  
“Because Mr. Slytherin Sir, Dumbledore wants me to look more like my father, so that I can give people hope.”  
“Because of the war, I presume?” the man questioned further, and Rhian stiffly nodded, not sure if he should feel more ashamed about his missing similarity to his parents or that he was forced to wear this appearance every day and couldn’t do anything against it.  
“Yes, Mr. …”  
“You may call me Marvolo, little one.” Mr. Slytherin cut him off.  
“Oh… okay…” he quickly agreed and then realizing what the man had just permitted him, his face split into a broad smile. He wasn’t even allowed to call his aunt and uncle by their first names, but a total stranger liked him enough to give him permission, and that was what it had to mean, because his aunt always said that only people who liked you would allow you to use their first name.

He quickly concentrated again, as Mr… no, Marvolo, spoke up after a short pause:

“I will,” Marvolo simply promised and for the first time in more than a year, Rhian reached for his magic, not to train his morphing ability and change into someone else, but to pull his magic back and return to his natural self.

He felt his hair growing again, much longer even than it had been last time he had seen it. It now spilled down his back to his tailbone. He also felt himself shrinking even further; he had always been too small for his age and for a proper Potter of his age, but he didn’t mind, he just relished in the feeling of being himself again after so long.

As he finally opened his eyes again, Marvolo looked at him strangely. It instantly made him feel nervous and he started to fidget slightly. He couldn’t read the man’s expression, could it be disgust? He hoped not, but to make sure that he didn’t offend the man, he asked: “Should I turn back?”

Marvolo blinked once, but then said: “No, this appearance suits you much better than the other one. It is far more appealing. Now,” he added, pausing “why do you play the obedient little puppet for Dumbledore, if he does not even let you wear your own skin? And do not try to lie to me, I have been a pupil of the old fool as well and know his methods.”

Rhian felt his eyes widening, he had never met someone who talked badly about the Headmaster or not behaved respectfully; even his aunt seemed to have some respect for the old wizard, or at least fear him. So he asked: “You do?”

Marvolo sneered.  
“Of course,” the man nodded. “I was a Slytherin.”  
Marvolo didn’t give more of an explanation, but he also didn’t have to; after all, Rhian had listened to the old coot’s prejudices about Salazar Slytherin, the pupils who were sorted into his house, and ‘Dark Wizards and Witches’ for nearly two years by now. And in all likelihood, Marvolo, having not only been a Slytherin but actually the Heir of the infamous founder, had probably made it even worse.

“Now answer my question!” Marvolo suddenly reminded him, and Rhian flushed in embarrassment, as he actually had to think to remember what the man’s question had been. Here he was, possibly having found someone who liked him, and he didn’t even listen properly. Fortunately his memory came back quickly:

“I want to learn as much magic as quickly as possible.”  
“Why?”  
This time, Rhian actually hesitated longer. He hated to talk about his home life, the one time he had confessed to the Headmaster that he was being abused had been bad enough and after the old wizard’s reaction he hated it even more, but what seemed even worse, was to confess to Marvolo that he was treated worse than the dog of the neighbors.  
Marvolo looked as if he came from a rich home with loving parents. His robes looked expensive, his hair was cut neatly and he still remembered that perfectly manicured hands he had seen before.

Still he answered: “So that I can live alone.”  
At his words Marvolo’s eyes narrowed. “Whom are you living with? Your parents are dead, if I remember correctly.”  
“I am living with my mother’s non-magical sister and her husband,” he explained.  
“That is just like Dumbledore, putting a magical child into the care of muggles,” Marvolo sneered and Rhian found himself shocked at the amount of hatred he suddenly saw in those radiant green eyes. “No wonder you are too small and too thin for your age. How old are you anyway?”  
“I am eight years old,” Rhian told him automatically, before he added: “But what have my aunt and uncle being muggles to do with them treating me badly? I don’t understand....”

Marvolo’s lips curled in what could only be disgust; even Rhian could read that expression. “Of course you would not know. Dumbledore would not have taught you anything besides his ‘Light’ propaganda. But those are as far from the truth as a fairytale from reality.”  
“What is the truth?” Rhian found himself asking with bated breath. For the first time he felt as if he was getting somewhere. Marvolo was actually telling him stuff and added to that, the fact that Dumbledore’s words always felt like lies, he couldn’t do anything but feel that whatever was coming next would be the truth and important.

“Muggles have a natural fear and dislike for magic. Unfortunately, I do not know everything, only my other ‘self’ does, but about 2000 years ago, there was only one type of magic in this world and muggles did not exist.”  
Frowning, Rhian said nothing for a moment. It took him some time to sort through the things Marvolo had just told him. Finally, one question stuck out in his head and he asked it: “So, muggles don’t belong in our world?”  
“Yes,” was all the other man answered.  
“And how did they get here? Are they aliens or something?”

Marvolo’s hand stopped combing through his hair and instead fell down onto the backrest where it started to tap an agitated rhythm onto the soft fabric. 

“That is the crux of the matter, is it not? But no, I do not believe that muggles came from a portal, or are ‘aliens’, as you put it. Portals are something even we wizards have not yet invented. If you truly want to learn more about the truth behind the ongoing fight between ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ in our world and get a chance to oppose and separate from Dumbledore, then you need to learn more about our world’s history, the true history, not what is written in school textbooks. And you should learn more about the Pureblood Society. Best would be to get to know one personally. But as long as you are so tightly under the old fool’s thumb, this will be difficult to accomplish.”

Balling his fists, Rhian looked down at his shoes. This was so frustrating. He didn’t need someone to tell him that he needed to learn more, needed to read up on things; he knew that already, but he just couldn’t. But no, he would not back peddle now. Not when he finally had someone so knowledgeable about the Wizarding World sitting across from him and actually had the chance to speak to that person in private, without Dumbledore being any the wiser.

“Can’t you help me?”  
His response was a raised eyebrow. “Did I not just do that? I told you what you need to do to gain more knowledge and better your situation.”

Closing his eyes, and willing the blush he could feel rising to not climb up to his cheeks and ears, Rhian took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do, what would be the only good argument to make Marvolo change his mind, but it was so difficult to open up a second time. Still, he knew he had no other choice:  
“Yeah… you did, but I... I cannot simply read up on those things,” he forced out.  
“I am sure you will find an opportunity to sneak out and fetch some books if I tell you where you can find them…” Marvolo started, but Rhian quickly interrupted him, before his courage would leave him:  
“I cannot read up on those things because I cannot read!” he practically shouted and then pushed his hands in front of his mouth in embarrassment.

For long seconds shocked silence filled the space between them, then Marvolo said in a disbelieving tone of voice:  
“You are trying to tell me that you cannot read? You are eight years old. I do not a lot about muggles, but I do know that even they have schools for their children.”

“My aunt and uncle never sent me to kindergarten where my cousin learned a few basics. I had to earn my keep,” he quickly rushed out, thinking that after what he had already confessed, he could be honest the whole way. “And when I was seven years old, Dumbledore came to start my private schooling, so I don’t visit a primary school either. And he never taught me how to read or write.”  
“And how are you able to learn the Defensive and Offensive Spells he surely is teaching you?” Marvolo asked, his eyes narrowed, but his voice had gained a more enquiring hint.  
“He is just showing me the movements and telling me the incantation and what it is used for. Then I train with dummies and later we have training duels.”

Marvolo stared at him for a couple of more seconds, and then asked rather oddly: _“So you wish for me to train you? Are you sure? I will be a tough and ruthless tutor.”_  
_“Yes,”_ he replied automatically. _“Besides, you cannot be crueler than Dumbledore. I can deal with strict and ruthless as long as I get something worth the effort in the end.”_  
Marvolo’s face suddenly changed back to that wicked smirk and he said: _“Well then, I will teach you. You do show very promising talents after all. However, I will not stand any complaining, and we will be tutor and teacher, I demand respect”_  
Rhian eagerly nodded; sure, he had started to like the man at some point and was a little bit disappointed that Marvolo wasn’t interested enough in him to see him as a friend, but at the moment he would take what he was offer without complaining.

“Furthermore…” Marvolo continued and he quickly concentrated back onto his new tutor. “”My rules will be law and…”  
“Yes?” Rhian echoed eager to get out of the chamber with his new tutor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was afraid that Dumbledore might show up if he stayed much longer; after all, he had left the entrance to the chamber wide open.  
“...you have to smuggle me out of here and feed me regularly.”

“Rhian’s face fell. “I… I have nothing to share with you. I barely get a piece of toast and a can of cold soup each day. Often less.”  
Marvolo’s head snapped around. “No worries, I will take care of those… problems. But I did not mean food anyway,” he waved off and even that casual gesture looked like the most aristocratic movement Rhian had ever seen.  
“I will need a little of your magic, because you see, I am only a couple of memories my older self preserved in this Diary,” the man explained with a careless, but elegant gesture in the direction of something Rhian had not noticed so far. However, now that he had, he could not understand how he had missed the crumbled body lying next to what seemed to be an old, black leather notebook, only a few steps away from where they had stood and spoken earlier.

Finding himself suddenly morbidly fascinated, he stood up without replying anything and crouched next to the figure. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was; Dumbledore, after all, had told him that the Heir of Slytherin had kidnapped a girl from a prominent ‘Light Pureblood’ family and that he would recognize her by her ginger red hair.

However, his curiosity grew as he could not decipher, even from up close, whether she was alive or not. There was no spilled blood, but her cloak prevented him from seeing any slight breathing that might be there, so he stretched out his hand and pushed the hood that was partly hiding the girls face away, but instantly pulled his hand away as soon as he had done so. While he felt unusually comfortable in Marvolo’s proximity, just getting near the girl’s skin had been enough to make his skin crawl.

 _“It’s interesting, isn’t it?”_ Marvolo’s voice suddenly sounded from right behind him and he turned his head in surprise.  
_“What is interesting?”_  
_Dumbledore is so careful to keep you away from any ‘Dark’ influence, I think I am correct in assuming that with me you are just talking to your first ‘Dark Wizard’, but your core instinctively and immediately recognized your kin and clearly reacts negatively to those who are not of your magic. But with this one, it is quite intriguing. She in truth has the potential to turn into a Dark Grey Witch.”_

Not understanding, Rhian frowned and asked: _“What do you mean? My kin?”_  
_“Have you not have noticed it? Your clear dislike for ‘Light’ people like this girl in front of you? Have you never felt something similar towards the old fool?”_  
_“I have…”_ he replied, still not understanding.  
_“Is it not logical what this means? What I mean with our kindred?”_ Marvolo continued and suddenly the coin dropped and Rhian’s eyes widened in realization:  
_“I am a ‘Dark Wizard’, right? That is why I can’t believe Dumbledore and why I am so interested in learning more about the ‘Dark Side’!”_ he exclaimed.  
_“Correct.”_  
_“But how can that be… my mother and my father, they both were…”_ he began but broke off in the middle of his sentence, remembering suddenly his conflicted feelings as he had seen his parent’s childhood pictures two years ago. How neither of them had looked even remotely similar to him. _“Doesn’t matter…”_ he said and shook his head. He couldn’t think about his parents right now anyway, not while he was down in the Chamber of Secrets.

“Anyway,” Marvolo pulled him back to reality. “As I told you, I am not human; I am merely a magical artifact, although a very powerful one, you will find that there are in fact only a few artifacts that could compare to me. My original plan was to drain all the life and magic from young Ginevra's body, leaving her dead and me with an independent, strong vessel. The plan is working well, as you can see. Poor, lonely, little Ginevra Weasley poured her fears, sorrows and hopes into me for a month. Along with her magic and life force, of course, but Dumbledore will get suspicious if you tell him you defeated me but wasn’t fast enough to rescue her. As much as I dislike the old fool, he knows his Magical Theory and will not be tricked that easily. As I have decided that it will be of more use for me in the long run to tutor you first and postpone the matter of a body for a little longer, you will bring her up and take me along with my Diary. However, once I devoured the magic I already consumed, I will need some of yours to keep interacting. But do not worry, you will barely notice any drain; you are a ‘Dark Wizard’ and therefore naturally stronger than this ‘Light Witch’.”

“So,” Rhian asked with a nod and gestured over to the unconscious girl and the Diary, “what should I do exactly? Just close your Diary and you will vanish inside of it?”  
Marvolo sneered at him; he clearly had said something wrong or stupid. “It will not be that easy to get rid of me, you can already take note to remember that for our lessons. Closing the Diary will not be enough to shut me up when you get tired or do not agree with some of my methods.” Whilst speaking, Marvolo had moved closer to the Diary and was now stepping onto, or rather inside a page. It looked as if the man was going down a staircase and shrinking at the same time, however, he stopped when his shoulders and head where still visible.

“You will take the body upstairs and tell Dumbledore that you destroyed the Diary with the Basilisk’s fang which I sent after you to kill you. However, you defeated it, found a broken off tooth and in your desperation to help the girl,” at that the man sneered again, “you stabbed the Diary with it. As a Basilisk’s fang holds the most toxic poison known in the magical world, it would have been enough to actually destroy me. But you will of course not do so. You will hide me somewhere beneath that ugly, unfitting excuse of an upper-body coverage you are wearing and smuggle me into your home.”

Having apparently finished after helping Rhian revert back to his disguised look, Marvolo disappeared completely into the notebook, and as if moved by a strong wind, the pages began fluttering until it shut closed.

Surprised and honestly confused by the abrupt ending and the fact that he had been left alone in that huge, dark and dingy labyrinth, Rhian needed a moment to gather his wits and start moving again. Like Marvolo had commanded him, he picked the Diary up, moved it between his stomach and belt, which was keeping his cousins enormous jeans in place, and covered it with the ugly, washed out t-shirt. At least Dudley’s oversized clothes were useful for once and not plainly hindering. After he was sure that no one would notice anything, he turned to face the girl again, pulled out his wand and with a precise wave made her lift up into the air and follow in his wake.

He let his eyes wander through Salazar Slytherin’s chamber one last time and had to admit, if not for Marvolo, he would have been disappointed. He had expected something more than a dingy hall with puddles filling half of the rough, stony floor, snake statues to his left and right and a huge figure of the man himself. Why had the wizard even found the need to build such a room and protect it so strongly on top of it? He couldn’t imagine, and honestly, by now he was too tired and exhausted to think about it any longer. So he finally turned around and left the chamber the same way he had entered it.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The exhaustion he felt as he dragged his feet back through the pipe that now seemed nearly never ending, was more of a mental weariness than anything physical, as he had done little more that to sit next to Marvolo and chat. Still, he was relieved when he finally saw the exit, grabbed the rope he had conjured for his journey down and climbed back up.

Once back in the girls toilet, he waited for the girl’s body to catch up with him, before he closed the entrance securely, making it secret once more.  
He had barely left the room and turned around the next corner, when he nearly collided with something awfully bright yellow and lime green.

“Ah, Harry my boy; I see you are back safe and sound. I was just about to check up on you. After all, as much as I trust in your abilities, one can never be sure about the tricks Voldemort hides up his sleeves.”  
Blinking once, twice, Rhian needed a moment to work through what he had just heard. So, Marvolo had once been Voldemort? After all, that was the only conclusion that made sense if he considered that Marvolo had told him that he was nothing more than “Memories, preserved by his old self in that Diary”. He knew he probably should freak out, but Marvolo had seemed reasonable enough, nothing at all like the crazed ‘Dark Lord’ Dumbledore had described over and over again, but he didn’t.

“Can I assume that you defeated him once more?” Dumbledore pulled him out of his musings and he automatically nodded, before telling the old wizard exactly what Marvolo had told him to say: “I destroyed him… or rather his Diary. With a Basilisk fang.”  
The Headmaster nodded, before he turned around and said: “Follow me. We will take Ms. Weasley to the Hospital wing so that our school nurse can look after her. Then you can give me the Diary and report what exactly transpired between you and Voldemort,” sounding as if he had known all along that Rhian would find a Diary down in the chamber.

Glancing up the old Headmaster, he knew that he would not get a better opening to “explain” that he had forgotten the Diary in the Chamber of Secrets. But what kept him hesitating for another moment, was the smirk that wanted to creep onto his face; a smirk, which he could not show Dumbledore if he wanted a chance to get away with his lie.

So clearing his throat, he said: “I am sorry Professor, but…” Dumbledore’s eyes instantly focused on him and he saw a slight straightening of the old man’s back.  
“What is it, my boy? Did something happen in Slytherin’s Chamber? You DID manage to destroy Voldemort’s Diary?”

There was an urgent note in Dumbledore’s voice, but Rhian couldn’t really understand its meaning. Making a mental note to tell Marvolo about the conversation, he for now went on: “Yes, I did, but I left it down in the Chamber… I just… I only could think about Ginny, she looked so pale… she still does. So I forgot…”

A flash of annoyance quickly flickered over the Headmaster’s face, but he masked it quickly and in the next second his false, grandfather-smile was back in place.  
“No worries my boy, as long as you destroyed it, everything will be fine. But next time you come across an artifact of his, make sure to bring it along, it might give us useful information on how to defeat him once and for all.”  
“I’ll make sure to remember,” he replied as was expected of him, but fell silent as they finally approached a pair of huge double doors. Probably the Hospital Wing. As they came even closer, the doors automatically swung open, leaving the view of a large, white room, with rows of beds on each side of the wall. There were privacy screens which could be drawn between the beds, and fresh air and sunlight came through many windows.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore called, and in the next moment, a stern looking matron poked her head out of a door that stood ajar at the end of the long hall.  
“Albus, what brings you…” she started, but then must have seen the floating body behind them and gasped.  
“Albus what happened? Is that young Ms Weasley?”  
“Yes,” replied Dumbledore gravely and moved the unconscious girl over to a free bed. “That is indeed Ginevra. Harry got to her just in time.”

At those words, the nurse’s head snapped back to him, apparently noticing his presence for the first time, and for a moment she stared at him in shock, before her features morphed into a warm, grateful smile.

For a split second, Rhian wanted to sneer at her worry for the stupid girl, but then found himself unable to do so. At least Poppy was honest in her relief and he could respect that.

His train of thoughts was barely finished, when the nurse had already turned away from him again and started to mutter spells which he didn’t recognize under her breath. Still, she somehow managed to order him: “And you Mr. Potter, hop onto a bed as well. I will check you over as soon as I am finished with your friend.”  
At that statement, he truly had to hide his sneer now. Ginny was definitely no friend of his. Firstly, Dumbledore had made sure that he would not meet anybody he could befriend and secondly, he would not have selected that redhead.

For a few more moments, he continued to watch the procedure, but soon he became bored and restless. For once he wished to return to the Dursley’s, so that he could quickly finish his chores, crawl into his cupboard and continue his conversation with Marvolo. However, as he was stuck, he tried to distract himself by examining the few magical objects he could see nearby. Or maybe sensing was the better word, because he could feel something like electricity on his skin. It wasn’t the nice tingling he had gotten when Marvolo touched him, but it was also not strong enough to make him feel uncomfortable like Dumbledore tended to do. Strangely enough, he could sense nothing from Ginevra, and wondered whether the girl was just that weak or if it had to do with whatever Marvolo had done to her. He really needed to speak to the man again and clear some more of his questions.

A shadow then fell over him, and as he blinked and looked up, he realized that he must have been in thought for longer than expected, because the nurse was now standing next to his bed. A screen had been pulled in front of Ginevra’s bed, protecting her from curious looks, or his eyes from the sight of her ugly red hair.

“Now, Mr. Potter, are you injured somewhere? Do you feel any pain or dizziness?”  
Shaking his head, Rhian leaned back against the headboard of his bed. “No, Madame.”  
But the nurse did clearly not believe him, because she pulled her wand out, pointed it at him and muttered another row of spells. The diagnostic spell was as uncomfortable as any other spell that had ever been cast on him, but at least he was starting to understand what the reason for the feeling could be, thanks to Marvolo.

“It seems,” the nurse began with a frown “that you are truly not suffering from any great injury right now. However there are…”however, before she could continue she was cut off abruptly by Dumbledore: “That will be enough then. You need not worry about some minor bruises, Poppy; the boy has daily training with myself and Alastor after all.”  
The nurse’s frown merely deepened, and Rhian could feel a warm flutter in his chest as she ignored the old Headmaster and asked: “Harry, if you need anything…” unfortunately, Dumbledore would not let anybody help him.

“I said that’s enough, Poppy,” however, the warning glare he threw was not directed at the nurse, but at him, making it clear that the nice woman would pay for her kindness if he said the wrong thing now. And he couldn’t let that happen. So he quickly said: “I truly am fine, Madame. Please, can I go home now?”

“Sure my boy, let me show you to the floo,” Dumbledore smiled, now content once more, and Rhian quickly hopped from his bed.  
The fireplace in the Hospital Wing was located in the middle of the left wall and fittingly, a kidney dish held a portion of floo powder. Grimacing at the bad taste in humor, Rhian took a handful, threw it into the fire and called out his destination, before he quickly stepped inside. He didn’t feel like being held back by Dumbledore any longer.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

As he arrived home, he realized that it was so late that the Dursley’s had all gone to bed already. So, as silently as possible, he stepped out of his trainers, which were dirty and wet after his excursion into the Chamber of Secrets and then quickly made his way out of the living room and down the hallway to his cupboard. As he passed the kitchen, his eyes wandered longingly to the refrigerator and the table, but as he saw nothing left behind for him, he knew he would be punished if he just took something out.

However, for once the thought didn’t fill him with as much loathing and anger as it usually did, as his mind was already preoccupied with the Diary that was still squeezed between his belt and stomach. Therefore, he opened his cupboard, crawled inside and laid down on his thin mattress, before he rolled onto his side and pulled the notebook out.

His hand already had stretched out to open it, when he pulled it away again. In his excitement to have someone to talk to, he had almost forgotten that the man in the Diary was none other than the ‘Dark Lord’, or rather his memories, which seemed a bad description considering that the man had even been able to touch him.

Unconsciously, he started to worry his bottom lip. How should he behave now that he knew the truth? Should he tell Marvolo that he knew who he was? Or act as if nothing had changed between them? But no, he couldn’t do the latter; he wanted to know why Marvolo had not told him himself who he really was. Furthermore, who would be better able to answer all his questions about the ‘Dark Arts’ than the ‘Dark Lord’?

Nodding to himself and breathing in deeply, he finally pushed the Diary open to the first page, which was for some reason empty. Strange, hadn’t Marvolo mentioned that Ginevra had written in that Diary? Or had he misunderstood as the memory had said “poured her fears, sorrows and hopes”?

However, before he could start wondering about the question of how to get Marvolo to appear again, the paper of the Diary began to quiver as if a stone had been dropped into a pond and a face materialized.

“Where have you brought us to?” Marvolo demanded, his green eyes scanning over the dim light bulb hanging above him, the bare, dirty walls and the lonely, nearly empty shelf where Rhian kept his spare clothes.

“We are in my cupboard,” he replied and tried not to flush in embarrassment.  
“Your cupboard?” the memory questioned, his disbelief badly hidden behind the sneer that contorted his aristocratic face. “This is unacceptable. I will not be living and teaching you in a cupboard.” An annoyed expression crossed Marvolo’s features and he muttered: “Of course this would not work... ” his eyes then settled on Rhian, who blinked stupidly, not understanding what the Diary was ranting about. Only when he noticed the eager glint in the man’s eyes, did he shuffle a little. That look didn’t bode well for him. And the next thing Marvolo said was:

“Let’s do a second experiment. You already proved one, and I believe you will prove the second as well.”  
“Experiment? What kind of experiment? And when did I prove one?”  
“Down in the Chamber,” Marvolo waved him off. “But that is not important right now. Just agree to do as I tell you.”  
Rhian’s suspicion grew and he narrowed his eyes at the Diary. “An experiment?” he sneered. “I thought you would help me, not put me through experiments which sound suspiciously like the tests that Dumbledore does!”  
Marvolo’s eyes flashed and Rhian instantly knew that he had said something very wrong, but he stood his ground. He would not be used by another person; he had enough of being used like a slave.  
“Do not compare me to the old fool. I am nothing like Dumbledore,” Marvolo hissed, and Rhian, thinking that now was as good a time as any, collected all his bravery and replied innocently: “No, you are not. You are the Dark Lord Voldemort.”  
“So, Dumbledore did tell you after all,” the memory smirked, apparently not ashamed of being caught in hiding important information.  
Rhian merely glowered back stubbornly. “Yes, he did. Is it true?”  
Marvolo lifted one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows and praised: “At least you question the old fool’s trustworthiness. But yes, in this aspect, he has told you the truth.”

Forgetting all about his initial question, Rhian asked: “What did he lie about?” he wanted to finally cut a few ropes from the spider web that was the Headmaster’s lies.  
“A lot of things,” Marvolo sneered back. “And I will only be able to tell you more if you do as I tell you for now. I can assure you, it will be to both our benefit. You will have to stop questioning every instruction I give you and sometimes just do as I tell you to do.”  
They stared at each other for a moment longer, but in the end Rhian sighed and nodded. As strict as Marvolo could probably be (otherwise he wouldn’t be a Dark Lord), he trusted the man. Maybe, because Marvolo had not hidden his opinion behind false smiles and empty, nice words so far. The memory at least, Rhian believed, would manipulate him openly, or just order him and so far he had told him more than Dumbledore had ever since meeting him.

His pondering came to an abrupt halt, as Marvolo suddenly spoke again, reminding him of the instruction he just had agreed to. “It is rather simple. Just snap your fingers and call ‘Malik’.”  
“Just snap my fingers and call ‘Malik’?” he echoed stupidly, earning himself another glare.  
“Yes, and now do as I say or I will start doubting my own theory and I never doubt any of my theories.”

Still confused, Rhian complied, and to his shock a strange looking creature appeared soundlessly next to his cot. It had leathery brown skin that was so wrinkled, that it reminded him of an old tree. The creature’s ears were enormous, like those of a bat, and it possessed huge, round eyes that glowed slightly in the dark, and a long moustache that reached down to its knees. But the strangest thing was the robe it was wearing. It was of a dark, emerald green, elegantly embroidered material with silver threads at the hems and a small round hat with a silver tassel dangling from it.

“What can Malik be doing for young Master Rhian?” The creature bowed deeply. Blinking, Rhian wondered how the creature knew his name.  
“His name is Malik.”  
Malik, whatever being he was, spun around, surprisingly quickly for his clearly old age and managed to bow even lower.  
“My Lord, Malik is delighted to see you once more. He is taking good care of…”  
“That’s enough.” Marvolo interrupted the creature. “We did not call you to listen to your reports about a situation that cannot have improved so far.”  
“Malik is apologizing. How can Malik be of service?”

Rhian watched the interaction slightly baffled. Was that thing some kind of magical servant? He had already expected that Marvolo must have come from a wealthy family, considering how he talked and moved, but to see it so plainly.... Thinking about riches, could it be that “Dark Lord” was something like a royal title in the wizarding world? Dumbledore had never actually explained the term further than that ‘Dark Wizards and Witches’ obeyed him because he was especially powerful, but it had always sounded as if it had been self appointed.

His questions were piling up, and he had yet to get a single answer, however, he didn’t really mind; he would just have to make sure to ask them all. And once he had done so, he would maybe finally understand the wizarding world and what he was supposed to fight for.

Concentrating back on the conversation (or orders) that were still going on next to him, he perked up as he realized what Marvolo’s plan was:  
“This room has to be warded. Nothing can leak out of here, no magical signature, no sound, no smell. And I want these accommodations to resemble something that is worthy of your Masters staying in. Also, the food is less than satisfactory here; take care of that as well.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the creature bowed and without warning, the mattress beneath Rhian began shifting. Surprised, he jumped up, just in time to see it fly off into the far right corner of his cupboard, which resembled a cupboard less and less with each passing second. The space was stretching out into all directions. The ceiling was lifting up, until even two men could easily climb onto each other’s shoulders and stand comfortably inside of it. The dirty white cleaned out and the floor changed into a rich dark wood. But that was not all. Rhian’s eyes widened as furniture seemed to grow out of nowhere. Cupboards and drawers appeared, a comfortable sitting area including a low, dark coffee table. His cot transformed into a gigantic four poster bed with a silver canopy; matching, silver and green carpets fell down onto the floor and even an additional door appeared on the right side, before finally, the walls cracked open, only to let huge windows grow in the freed spaces.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, everything fell quiet again. The little servant, who had been standing in the middle of his new room, hands high in the air, returned to him, bowed and asked: “Can Malik be of any more help before he goes and prepares dinner for young Master?”

“I assume the room is warded against the muggles living in this house,” Marvolo’s voice asked and it sounded so close that Rhian startled and looked searchingly around. To his surprise the Dark Lord was once again standing next to him, his Diary leisurely tucked under one arm. He must have come out of the notebook as Rhian had been occupied with staring at the impressive show of magic.

“Of course, my Lord. Filthy muggles will feel no need to open cupboard. Young Master will be safe in here; Malik has extended wards of Serpent’s Hall.” The servant bowed again.  
“Then you may leave and prepare the dinner.

As soon as the creature had disappeared, Rhian blurted out: “What was that?”

Marvolo’s left eyebrow lifted. “I see the old fool has truly taught you nothing. That was a house elf. They need a close bond to a wizard to access their magic properly and extend their lifespan; therefore you often find them serving old Pureblood families.”  
“Oh, okay… so this one is…”  
“Malik has been serving Slytherin House for many centuries. But, that you have been able to call him, is proof that Dumbledore is hiding more from you than you think.”  
“How so?” Rhian asked, not understanding and waiting patiently as Marvolo examined him for a long second, before saying: “House elves serve Purebloods. Only Purebloods.”

Frowning, Rhian was about to open his mouth when he realized what Marvolo meant. His eyes widened and he quickly reached for the wall to steady himself. Sure, he had suspected that something about his parentage could not be correct, but he had rather thought that it had more to do with his magical core than actual blood relations, mainly because of the Dursley’s.... his eyes widened even further and he gasped, but his shock quickly changed into rage and he balled his hands into fists.

“Does that mean,” he pressed out between clenched teeth “That Dumbledore has put me with some horrible muggles, who are not even related to me?”

Silence hung heavy in the air and Rhian almost thought that Marvolo wouldn’t answer him, when the man finally spoke up.

“Correct. However, keep in mind that you have to play your part. Do not let the old fool find out that you know the truth. Knowledge is power, especially knowledge about lies, deceit and secrets. Remember this as well, it is the first rule to the game of Slytherins; keep your friends close but your enemies even closer. Unfortunately, I am only a small part of the Dark Lord, thus, I neither have all his power, nor all his knowledge. I was created from the memories of his twenty five year old self and therefore, I can only go by the lies which the Headmaster told me back then.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Malik popped back into the room, trays loaded with food hovering above his head. Rhian’s mouth fell open, there were dishes he had never even seen before, let alone tasted. All he knew was toast, baked beans and the occasional can of instant soup, but now the scent of roasted meat, vegetables and spices wafted over to him.

Looking back and forth between the house elf who was setting everything up on his coffee table and Marvolo, he tried to decide if he should rush over or continue with his questions. He wanted to know more about Marvolo and about the lies Dumbledore had tried to feed him so that he would be prepared if the old coot tried something with him again. However, his choice was taken away from him as Marvolo’s voice sternly ordered:  
“Go and eat. You will need your strength come tomorrow. I will not be a lenient tutor.”

“But…” Rhian began, seeing his chance to more answers slipping away from him.  
“No buts. We will not continue our conversation this evening. And now go eat and sleep afterwards.”

The growling of his stomach was what finally made him decide to just listen to Marvolo for now. That, and the fact that the man had been clear that he would be his tutor, which was something like a mentor. However, something inside of him was telling him that there was more to their relationship, or maybe it was just his hopes speaking up. He knew enough about obedience to know when it was expected of him.

He sat down on the plush carpet in front of the coffee table and for a moment, he could do nothing more than to stare at the variety of food. It was far too much for him, he would never manage to eat it all, but he wanted to at least try a bit of everything, so he began to fill his plate with a spoonful of everything.

There were classical, English dishes, but also ones that smelled very exotic; but then again, the house elf did not seem like something or someone who originated from Great Britain. His logical mind left him then, as his eyes were drawn down to his full plate and he carefully spooned some sort of cereal in a green sauce up. A fresh but also spicy taste exploded on his tongue and he wiggled a little in delight. Whatever kind of dish that was, it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. Quickly, he tried something else, some kind of meat in a fruity, red sauce made from tomatoes; it tasted just as delicious as the grain had done. In fact, every dish was better than he ever had imagined food could possibly be. However, he did not stuff his mouth once. Despite his hunger, or maybe especially because of it, he savored every bite and took his time to enjoy the first proper meal in his life.

When he was finally finished, he felt so full and satisfied that he could have fallen asleep on his carpet, it was softer than his cot ever had been anyway. But one glance over at Marvolo, who was lounging in one of his armchairs, reading some kind of book which the house elf must have brought him (because he himself possessed none), was enough to make him stand up and walk over to his new bed.

“Do you not plan on changing into your pajamas?” Marvolo’s voice stopped him as he was about to crawl under the heavy comforter. Blinking, Rhian had to put in a real effort to work through what the Dark Lord wanted from him. His mind felt hazy and relaxed as it had never done before, and the excitement of the day was catching up to him, making his limbs feel heavy and tired.

“Malik should have put a pair into your new wardrobe,” Marvolo added and the impatience in his voice finally helped Rhian to realize what the man suggested. Without a word he nodded, walked over, opened the doors of the gigantic cupboard and froze at the sight of the amount of clothes in front of him. The wardrobe had to be magically extended, just like his room, because otherwise he had no idea how that many, soft looking tunics and trousers fit into the space. There were even three pairs of boots at the bottom; one pair was black, one pair brown and the last pair grey.

Amazed, he let his hand brush over a pair of trousers and noticed that it had to be made from some sort of soft leather. Suede leather, he remembered his aunt calling this type of fabric once.  
However, a yawn reminded him that he was in fact too tired to try his new clothes on, and he quickly searched for a pair of pajamas. He found a green one on a small shelf to his right, and absentmindedly wondered what the reason for all the green and silver was, as he took the pair from the shelf and walked back to his bed, where he changed.

“Where will you sleep?” he asked, as his eyes once more fell onto Marvolo, who, to his surprise had followed him to his bed. “I am not a living human being. I do not need any sleep,” the man answered before, to Rhian’s surprise, he bent down and covered him with the blanket. It didn’t even register in his mind how odd it should have been to have the Dark Lord tucking him in, all he could think about was how nice that simple gesture felt, how warm and cared for it made him feel.

“Oh...okay…” Rhian replied, feeling a bit awkward and slightly bad to leave the man behind in the armchair, so he added: “If you… want to lie down later… you can climb in beside me… the bed is big enough for both of us...”  
Marvolo’s eyebrow lifted once more, and Rhian felt a blush rising in his cheeks. Maybe he should not have offered that last part, but then the man shocked him once more, by leaning down a second time and combing once through his hair.

Feeling totally embarrassed all of the sudden, he quickly climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his nose. The softness of the mattress, the comforting warmth of the duvet and his exhaustion quickly made him forget his embarrassment, and before he knew it, his body relaxed and he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

**_Strangely enough, this time as he fell asleep, the dark haired man of his dreams had a face. It was the face of Marvolo.  
“Come here, Rhian!” he called. “Time for dinner and bed afterwards.”  
“Nooo! I am not tired!” he called and tried to run away. However, strong hands grabbed him around the waist and quickly lifted him up.  
“No arguing, daddy still has a lot to do. But if you behave I will tell you the story of Jörmungandr.”  
“That’s my favorite!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up.  
“I know,” the man that looked like Marvolo chuckled, before sitting down and dropping him onto his lap.   
He started to fumble with the buttons at the front of the elegant, black robe, but his little hands were not yet talented enough. However, the Marvolo doppelganger quickly helped him and soon he was pushing the fabric to the side. Without hesitation he attached himself to one of the man’s pale nipples and started suckling. Something warm and soothing flowed into his mouth and he hummed as his body relaxed completely._ **

**_An arm came around him as his body slumped tiredly against the strong chest and his eyes closed._ **

**_“Now, now, if you fall asleep I will not be able to tell you the story,” the wizard’s voice sounded soothingly from somewhere above him._ **

**_Tired, he shook his head, however, it was of no use, because seconds later his eyes had shut completely and he had fallen asleep._ **


	3. An Unexpected Friend (Second Year - Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **AUTHOR NOTE:  
>  **Hi everybody :-)**  
>  **Thank you all for following me so far. I am so excited about the positive reviews I have gotten so far.**  
>    **I also want to announce, that any announcements that may pop up in the future will only be posted on my Facebook page, as I am posting on three different internet pages by now and it will just be much simpler to post those kind of things in one place where everybody has access to. Please check the link (in Author BIO) and FRIEND me if you want to see what is happening update-wise and in my other fictions not yet posted, but that I am busy writing!**   
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> **

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_(Rhian age 8… continued)_

“What are you doing up so early?” was Rhian’s greeting as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes only a few hours later. What a strange dream that had been. Blushing, he looked over to where the wizard was sitting, remembering what he had done in that dream. He had nursed from the man that looked an awful lot like Marvolo. As if he had been a mere toddler; he felt totally embarrassed. Shaking his head, he tried to get rid of the image, but somehow he couldn’t. It was stuck too clearly in front of his inner eye, and also the memory of how he had felt as he had been nursed and held tightly. It had felt so nice to have someone care for him. No, not someone, but a father who had cared for him.

Once again his old dream awoke inside of him, and his chest felt as if it was on fire with yearning. As a small child he had always imagined what it would be like to have one. He had lain for long hours in his cupboard and dreamed of how his father would wake him in the morning, tell him to get dressed and down to breakfast. He would put a plate in front of him with a slice of toast, bacon and sausages cut into small pieces like aunt Petunia had always done for Dudley. He then would pour him some milk or juice, take him to pre-school and fetch him later in the afternoon, before helping him with his homework.

On weekends they would go to the playground in the park nearby or maybe play a game of ball in the garden, and when he was ill his father would make him a hottie and read stories to him until he fell asleep.

He just knew, if he still had a father, he would do all of that for him. He would be the nicest person in the world. Maybe a bit stern, but caring…

Suddenly his mind reminded him that it wasn’t completely out of the question to have a family one day. The Potters hadn’t been his parents, so maybe his REAL father was still alive? Maybe even searching for him?

Shaking his head again, he pushed the thought to the side. Right now this dream could only hurt him. Even if his real father was still somewhere out there, he had no opportunity to search for him right now. Not with Dumbledore practically watching every step he took. So he stretched and finally climbed out of bed.

He had slept better than any night he could remember and everything inside of him was reluctant to get out of the heavenly soft bed, but he knew he had to get his daily chores done before school, otherwise he would have no time for his extra lessons with Marvolo in the evening.

The memory had moved from the armchair he had been sitting in after Rhian went to bed, over to the sofa where he had stretched out in a way that seemed lazy and sophisticated at the same time.

“If you are not even able to answer my question yet, it is only underlining my belief that you still belong in bed,” Marvolo’s voice pulled him out off his sleeping observations and Rhian quickly replied: “I have to get up and do my daily chores. Otherwise I won’t get anything to…” he cut himself off as he realized that food would not be a problem any longer, but still, he had to do the housework if he wanted to avoid a beating.

“Or you do not what?” Marvolo asked pointedly and he winced inwardly. He needed to learn to think before he spoke in the Diary’s proximity. Usually he had no problem doing so, but something about his new companion was compelling him to be as truthful as possible. Maybe it was because of the strong trust he had felt from the very beginning… he couldn’t say.

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly tried to avoid giving an answer, but he should have known that such a simple excuse wouldn’t work with the Dark Lord. Marvolo once again lifted his left eyebrow and gave him that questioning look that promised… he didn’t know what it promised yet, but he hoped that he would know his tutor well enough to have such an answer soon. So with a sigh he changed his mind and decided to give a proper answer after all:

“I know food isn’t an issue anymore… but I have to do my daily work or my relatives will be…” he broke off again as he noticed Marvolo’s expression darkening.  
“What will they do to you aside from obviously withdrawing food?”

Rhian looked down. He couldn’t confess the truth to Marvolo. Knowing that he was a wizard and not able to defend himself against his abusive uncle and aunt already weighted down his small ego, but to talk about his weakness would only make it a hundred times worse. He just knew that Marvolo was the kind of smart person who would have found a way out of the situation by now and he didn’t want to make a bad impression.

However, he startled when cool hands suddenly grabbed under his arms and he was suddenly picked up and lifted out of his bed. The decision was taken away from him as Marvolo pulled his pajama top over his head in one swift, fluid motion and his bruises and scars were revealed for the whole world to see, while at the same, electric sensation he had felt the day before washed all over his body.

“I see the old fool has not changed his tactics in the last couple of decades. One day he may realize, that he is not raising loyal followers but his own enemies,” Marvolo growled, and as Rhian lifted his head to look at his tutor, he saw a gleam in those green eyes that should frighten him, but didn’t. He knew that he had that same gleam in his eyes whenever he fantasized about taking revenge on the Dursley’s and the thought that Marvolo wanted to avenge him only filled him with a warm, fluttering feeling.

For a long moment silence rang between them as Marvolo continued to hold him tightly. It made all his worries go away for a moment. Marvolo made him feel so protected, just like he had always imagined a father would. The man was clearly drifting far away in thought, but it didn’t bother him as he relaxed into the touch. However the moment was interrupted when a near silent pop was heard and Malik appeared only a few steps away from them, bowing:

“Good morning my Lord; young Master. May Malik serve breakfast?” the elf inquired and Marvolo let go of Rhian all too soon. His skin still tingled, but he tried to ignore it and listen to the Diary who was telling his servant:

“You may serve breakfast. And fetch some healing potions for Rhian.”  
Malik disappeared after another bow and Rhian, even though he wanted to stay in his mentor’s lap and cuddle a little longer, knew that he had better use the time to get dressed. So he went to his wardrobe and pulled out one of his old jeans and t-shirts. His eyes wandered over the pile of new, fitting and soft clothes. “A pity I can’t wear them.”

“No, not for your ‘lessons’ with Dumbledore,” Marvolo sneered. “But you can change into them once you are back. Now, back to the topic of your chores. I will order Malik to do them for you. A wizard should not be forced to do such lowly work.”

“But…” Rhian tried to interrupt, fear rising in his throat. He could not let the House Elf take over all his chores. Firstly, it would be unfair towards the poor creature and secondly, the Dursley’s would grow suspicious if they never saw him doing anything anymore. They would accuse him of doing magic and punish him even worse than they normally did. Besides, they would never accept Malik in their house.

“Do not worry. Malik will not be seen,” Marvolo waved him off, just as said House Elf returned with a tray full of breakfast goodies.

Rhian was momentarily distracted by the side of freshly baked pancakes with whipped cream and strawberry marmalade, but forced himself to turn back to the Diary.  
“But... that won’t be enough. They will grow suspicious if they don’t see me doing my work anymore.

Marvolo’s brows creased into a barely noticeable frown and Rhian kept silent as the Dark Wizard was thinking, which didn’t take long at all. “He will at least take over some of your chores. What are your duties in this… ‘house’?” it was clear that the memory didn’t consider the neat duplex house something that actually deserved the title of ‘house’, which only strengthened Rhian’s suspicions that Marvolo belonged to a rich and noble Pureblood family. Well, he was an ancestor of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four Hogwarts Founders. That family had to be rich.

“I have to keep the garden clean and the flowers watered. Then I have to do the laundry, the cleaning of the bathrooms and vacuum every day as well.... and I have to cook breakfast and dinner if I am home early enough.” He quickly listed his daily duties.

“It will be enough to do the cooking and the vacuum cleaning. They can watch you doing those. Considering the time you are away at Hogwarts I doubt they saw you doing all of these chores lately anyway. Besides, you still have to be able to do your training with me in the evenings. You should not stop working on your dream to become a powerful wizard by being burdened with such mundane tasks. Your magical core is powerful; such a gift should not be wasted.”

Worrying his bottom lip, Rhian lowered his gaze. The offer was tempting, but how could he burden the small, old creature with so much added work? That didn’t sound fair to his ears. However, as if reading his mind, his tutor spoke up once more:  
“Your face is as open as a book; we will have to work on your occluding skills, but for now let me put your mind at ease and tell you that there is no need to worry about Malik. He will not be doing your chores by hand. He will use is elf magic and be finished in no more than an hour.

Finally, Rhian nodded slowly. That sounded like a plan which could work. So while Marvolo gave Malik his new orders, he sat down in front of the coffee table once more and began eating. He quickly found out that the pancakes as well as the double chocolate cupcakes and the treacle tarts were his favorites.

When he was finished, he said his goodbyes to Marvolo, who had gotten a book from somewhere, and went into his relatives’ kitchen. Unlike the day before, the whole family was up already, but they were not down yet, so he still had enough time to prepare the bacon, eggs and slices of toast. His day took a sudden, painful turn, as Dudley walked in, threw him a nasty grin and started screaming for his parents. Within seconds aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon were down, Petunia gathering her sweet ‘Duddykins’ in her arms.

Rhian meanwhile was trying to make himself as small as possible. He knew how this scene would continue, it was not the first time Dudley used his parents absence to blame him for something that didn’t happen. The only question was, what would it be today?

“Hush, my sweetheart. Tell your mommy and daddy what happened. We will make it better again,” his aunt crooned, while Dudley wiped a few false tears from his face, sniffled and then wailed: “The freak… the freak splattered me with some of the hot fat from the pan! It hurts! It hurts!”

He had no time to listen to Petunia’s soothing reassurances, as his uncle instantly turned to him, his face already red with rage, the vein on his temple throbbing dangerously.  
“You useless freak! I will show you how hot a pan is!” he raged, grabbed his wrist and before Rhian could even try to break free, his right hand was pushed into the bubbling oil. He screamed out in anguish and began to struggle as hot tears blurred his vision. But his uncle didn’t let go until the smell of scorched flesh could be smelled in the kitchen.

Rhian immediately pulled his hand out of the pan, but it was too late. His skin was blistering and red, and in some places even scorched away completely, leaving nothing more than raw, burned flesh.

Whimpering, he hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room. He wanted to ask Marvolo for a healing spell that was strong enough to take care of his burn, but his experience with the Episkey spell had taught him not to heal his wounds, it would only make his relatives even angrier, and also the thought of Azkaban still frightened him.

So instead of returning to his room, he just grabbed some of the floo powder and floo’ed over to Dumbledore’s office.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The Headmaster looked up as he stumbled out of the hearth as he always did. “You are quite early today, my boy. But let us use the extra time,” he waved Rhian over, his eyes settling on his hand which he still held cradled to his chest, but they wandered further without lingering even a second, as if the old wizard had not noticed his injury.

“Today I would like to discuss with you what you had witnessed in the Chamber of Secrets,” Dumbledore began without wasting any time. “You mentioned yesterday that you found a Diary when you saved Miss Weasley…” he continued, and gave Rhian in inquiring look, making it clear that he expected more details from him. Rhian however, knew that he could not tell the old coot the whole truth, but neither would he get away with telling him nothing. So what could he do? One thing was clear; he had to continue pretending that he had defeated Marvolo. However, that still didn’t tell him what information he could share without endangering his new tutor.

After worrying his bottom lip a moment longer, he finally came to a decision and began retelling an altered version of the events from the day before:

“Yes, I found a Diary in the chamber… but it had to be magical, because Voldemort came out of it… or rather Voldemort as a student.”  
“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore murmured, as if he had just confirmed something, before asking: “Did he mention something about using Ms Weasley to come back to life?”  
Rhian hesitated again, but in the end, he decided that apparently Dumbledore knew that already. He could only hope that it was nothing more than a theory of the old coot and not that he had somehow watched the entire event. “Um… I think he said something like that…” he confirmed, making sure that he sounded like the naive boy the Headmaster believed him to be.

“Tell me, Harry, what impression did you form about young Tom?”  
“Tom?” Rhian echoed with confusion, he had never heard that name before.  
“Yes, indeed. Tom Marvolo Riddle is Voldemort’s real name.”  
Knowing that he was just being told another lie by the Headmaster and also that he had to play along, he quickly listed all the things the old coot would want to hear about Marvolo in his mind, before he began to repeat them slowly, as if deeply in thought:  
“I think… he seemed rather arrogant. He also tried to manipulate me, just like you described a Slytherin or Dark Wizard would do. The way he acts you can tell he is from a Pureblood family.”

“And there we have the funny side of this story,” Dumbledore hummed, a bright twinkle now in his eyes. “While Tom fights for the rights of the Purebloods, the rights of the ‘superior’ wizards and witches as he calls them, he is in truth a Halfblood himself. But not only that, he was brought up in nothing like the luxurious surrounding he likes to make his followers believe. Tom Marvolo Riddle grew up in a muggle orphanage, where he stuck out like a sore thumb, because he had inherited an evil, dark and sadistic soul from his mother’s side of the family from the very beginning.”

Rhian suppressed a scoff; he didn’t believe that being a ‘Dark Wizard’ truly equaled being evil, and even less that any child was born with an evil soul. No, it was the environment, the people in ones close proximity that turned someone ‘dark’, nothing else. However, Dumbledore continued and he quickly concentrated back on the old man so that he could tell Marvolo every detail about the lies the Headmaster was spouting.

“At the orphanage he terrorized children. Very early he had a grip on his magic and parseltongue ability, and he used them relentlessly to torment those who could have, and should have, been his friends. He also had a tendency to gather trophies from those he disliked the most; mostly worthless trinkets he stole, but already a sign of his evil nature.  
I do not like to talk bad about people, former students especially,” Dumbledore continued and Rhian wanted to roll his eyes. The old fool was doing nothing other than talking bad about ‘Dark Wizards’ and teaching him spells to defeat them since their lessons had started over a year ago.

“...however, I was the one who delivered Tom’s Hogwarts letter, and even at that first meeting I had bad feeling. It was like a dark cloud surrounding him, and in the following seven years my suspicions were only confirmed. I never could find any evidence, but I am sure that he killed a Muggleborn student in his sixth year.”

Rhian’s eyes widened. For a split second he could not imagine Marvolo would do such a thing, but then he remembered that Marvolo was indeed Voldemort, and Voldemort had killed a lot of people. However, he wondered if maybe the Muggleborn had been a tormentor like Dudley. He just couldn’t believe that things were as easy as the Headmaster made them out to be, it never was. For example: while his cousin was a mean bully, he also believed that his parents were at fault. Dudley only copied what they did to him, nothing more. And then there was the first war. Was it really only about killing all Muggles, or had there been another reason hidden behind it? He knew Marvolo, and he believed the man had been brilliant, so in turn, Voldemort had to be brilliant as well, and brilliant people didn’t do things without a good reason; that’s at least is what he believed. Well, after meeting Ginevra Weasley, he could also understand if Marvolo had killed the student if he or she had been ‘Light’. That type of magic just felt ‘wrong’.

“Yes indeed,” Dumbledore nodded, false sadness in his eyes. “As I told you during our first meeting, Tom is a parselmouth, and after what you reported yesterday, I am sure that he opened the Chamber of Secrets and let the basilisk loose. The ghost you had surely seen in the Girls’ toilet was the victim back then.

Rhian hadn’t seen any ghost, but he made a mental note to talk to her if he ever got a chance to go back to the second floor.

“Well my boy,” Dumbledore said and rose to his feet. “It will soon be time for your lesson with Professor Moody. I will let you go a little earlier, because I imagine you would like to check on Miss Weasley and see how she is doing. I know she wants to thank you in person; you are her savior after all.”

Rhian cringed inwardly; he didn’t know what repulsed him more; the thought of getting close to the weak ‘Light Witch’ with her disgusting magic, or the fact that she called him her ‘savior’. He certainly hadn’t wanted to save her, but as Marvolo had pointed out, they had no choice.

However, he nodded in apparent agreement, but didn’t actually plan on visiting her, before leaving the office to just wait in some hidden alcove.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The rest of his day at Hogwarts was spent singularly with Moody, who first let him run for two hours straight and then worked with him on his spell dodging. Therefore, the Auror used a trainings method he had introduced only three month after the beginning of his training. Rhian had to duck, dodge and shield while Moody sent spells, hexes, jinxes and curses as quickly and as strongly as the old Auror was able to at him.

Moody had kept him even longer than usual, therefore, when he finally had returned home, prepared dinner and done the vacuum cleaning, he was so exhausted that the only thing on his mind was going straight to bed. The aching of his hand had faded to a constant burn in the background of his mind, so he yelped in surprise when he slumped past the Diary and his hand was suddenly grabbed.

“What happened?” Marvolo’s voice was stern as ever, but there was the tiniest hint of worry in the man’s words, and it was all it took for Rhian to recall every detail of his horrible day. Tears instantly pricked at his eyes and spilled over a second later. He was swept onto the ghostly cold lap of his mentor and instantly clung to the wizard’s robe burying his wet face into the soft fabric while a strong, large hand started to stroke soothing circles on his back.

Somewhere in the background a pop was heard and Marvolo said something, but Rhian didn’t listen; he just clung tighter to the sanctuary he found in the strong, broad chest and let his tears fall freely.

Something warm and soft was suddenly pushed into his arms and he let go of Marvolo’s robe with one hand to hug the thing closer. Somehow, whatever it was comforted him and after a few more minutes of back rubbing he had calmed down enough to blink his eyes open again and examine what the Diary had given him. At first the image was still a bit blurry from his tears and he only could recognize something rather long, green and soft looking. Rubbing the tears away with his free hand, he lifted the thing up and finally he recognized that it was a snake. Not a normal snake, but a cuddly toy in snake form, and it had wings.

He stared at the snake, somehow it felt familiar. Suddenly a picture flashed through his mind and for a split second he thought that the Marvolo doppelganger was standing in front of him, giving him the toy he held tightly against his chest. But the hands reaching out for the snake were much smaller, as if they belonged to a toddler.

He blinked, and the image was gone. He blinked a second time to chase the strange feeling away that had grabbed hold of him. It had felt so real… but surely that couldn’t be?

“It would be appropriate to say ‘thank you’,” Marvolo’s voice brought him back to the present and the strange feeling and vision vanished from his mind, replaced by a wide, happy smile. He had a cuddly toy, his first ever toy. He didn’t mind that it looked a bit rough around the edges; he would treasure it regardless.

“Does it have a name?” He asked curiously, looking up into those green eyes that watched him intently.  
“His name is Jörmungandr.”  
Pulling a face, Rhian said: “That’s a strange name.”  
“I believe his former owner called him Jörmy for short,” Marvolo smirked.  
“Did Jörmy belong to the person that was precious to you?” he asked, pressing the cuddly toy against his small chest; it was nicely warm. Were all cuddly toys this warm?

Marvolo gave a quick nod. “He named it after the creature from his favorite tale…” the wizard told him, and something was telling Rhian that his mentor was pondering something, so he kept silent, cuddled back against the chest and waited. Finally the Diary said: “I will tell you the story if you are interested.”

His eyes widened. A story, no one had ever told him a story! He nodded quickly.  
“Then, let us get you to bed first,” Marvolo said and scooped him up. He was carried over and tucked in, then his mentor sat down on the edge of his bed as well and began to tell him the tale of Jörmungandr: the World Serpent.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The next two weeks passed in a nightmarish blur of far too long lessons and too many chores. The Dursley’s had gotten suspicious because he apparently managed everything in time and had not only started to watch him closely, but also added even more work to his daily schedule.

Marvolo was getting annoyed; he knew that, after everything, they had not managed to start his lessons so far, because whenever he finally returned late at night, he was unable to even talk to the Diary for a few minutes. He couldn’t even tell if the man still tucked him in at night, because he fell asleep as soon as his body hit the mattress. But even worse was that he had not had any time to cuddle with the memory. He had gotten used to the comfort within a day and was missing it terribly. Once, during a particular hard lesson with Moody, he even found his eyes stinging with tears as a sudden wave of longing for the comfort of the man had overwhelmed him. The only thing that helped a bit was the cuddly toy he always woke up with in his arms ever since Marvolo had gifted it to him...

Therefore it didn’t really surprise him when one evening, Marvolo announced as soon as he stepped into his room: “Sit. We need to talk.”  
The man was sitting on the couch that Rhian by now called “Marvolo’s” inwardly, but in contrast to the relaxed but poised position he found the memory in the last few evenings, he was sitting facing him, one finger tapping a rhythm onto the armrest that clearly spoke of his dark mood and he wore a scowl. It gave Rhian the odd, unfamiliar feeling of being called into a father’s office or study to be lectured for some sort of misbehavior. Somehow, despite the fact that it wasn’t anything like one of his ‘nice dreams’ he had constructed, the thought still made his stomach flutter.

Despite the clear foul mood of his tutor, he took that chance to climb onto the sofa next to the man. For a second, he still hesitated, but joy filled him as he cuddled closer and felt Marvolo relax the tiniest bit. An arm was wrapped around his shoulders.

“I am sure you realize that it cannot continue like this any longer,” Marvolo began. Rhian wondered if he was supposed to reply, but his body and mind was too happy to snuggle up against the strong, broad chest (that always made him feel so safe) to be able to do so.  
“However, I have found a solution,” he continued and pulled a golden chain with a round pendant out of his robe pocket.

Rhian stared at it, not knowing how a necklace could help them, but he had a feeling that Marvolo would explain soon enough.  
“This is a Time Turner. It will enable you to travel back in time, up to 24 hours, thus, allowing you to live your day twice.”

Not sure how to answer, he chewed on his bottom lip. He didn’t want to live each of his horrible days twice and to the same chores double, but he also didn’t want to disappoint his mentor. Unfortunately, Marvolo had noticed his expression and asked:  
“I can see by your expression that you are making assumptions, and with your amount of knowledge on the wizarding world they will most likely be wrong. So tell me what you are thinking so that I can put your needless fears to rest.”  
He hesitated for another moment, but when he saw the frown settling back onto the wizard’s features, he quickly mumbled: “I don’t know how reliving my day will help us… I mean, it will only mean that I am doing the same stuff twice, won’t it?”  
“Ah, of course, you have no idea how exactly a Time Turner works. While you will be reliving your day, your past self will be doing what you have already done, thus, it gives you the freedom to work on other projects; like our lessons and getting into a healthier routine so that you will actually be able to cope with the training I will put you through.”

Rhian gulped, that didn’t sound as if he would get any free time out of this, but then again, he would at least get a break from Dumbledore and the Dursley’s every other day, and he really should just be glad that he would finally learn useful things.

He was about to nod in agreement, when another thought entered his mind, and quickly voiced it before Marvolo could grow impatient once again:  
“What will happen if one of my relatives sees me and… my ‘past me’?” he felt a bit awkward to talk about two versions of ‘himself’, but had no idea how to put it differently.

Marvolo’s expression darkened and there was a warning, almost threatening glint suddenly in his eyes as the man looked down on him that made him want to hide in the Diary’s robes.  
“You will need to make sure that such a situation never presents itself. Manipulating time is a dangerous affair. If for example, you manage to kill someone, or even your ‘past self’, that person will be dead once the time flows regularly again. It also bears the danger of driving people insane, as going back in time is something even we wizards are not supposed to do.”

Nodding in understanding, Rhian asked: “When will we start using the Time Turner?”  
“This evening,” answered Marvolo with a look on his face that told him the Diary clearly thought the question was stupid. “You will do your chores, and then go back in time and rest a little before we start with your training.”

Perking up at the promise of some rest, Rhian quickly told his tutor:  
“Um… I have already finished all my chores.”  
“Then take the Time Turner. One turn is 12 hours, thus, you should be arriving after your ‘past self’ has already left the house...”  
The delicate gold necklace was dropped into his lap and reluctantly Rhian sat up. He hung it around his neck, but then paused as another question arose in his mind. “Don’t we need to use the Time Turner together?”  
The memory only lifted his left eyebrow mockingly and drawled: “It is enough to live each day once for me. And as I am a strong wizard, and made myself aware this morning that you would return in time, it will not be a problem.”

Taking in a deep breath, Rhian took the pendant in his hand and turned it once. Somehow, he had imagined that he would maybe just disappear and reappear in his room, or that he wouldn’t actually be able to see any change, considering that twelve hours ago he had already been at Hogwarts, but what happened was far more confusing. It was as if he had stepped into a movie that was playing backwards. For a very short moment he even saw ‘himself’ sitting in front of him, his ‘past self’ none the wiser. Then he went out of the room again and Marvolo lounged back in the couch, a book appearing in his hand. For the next few minutes nothing happened other than some pages being turned, then the sun lowered and finally the world came to a halt again.

Marvolo looked up from his book, smirked and said: “As I expected,” before ordering him “Go to bed, I will wake you up in five hours.”  
Biting his bottom lip once, Rhian collected all his bravery and asked: “Can I sleep on the couch next to you?”  
There was a strange look in his mentor’s eyes for a moment, but then the Diary nodded. “But get your blanket first,” Marvolo agreed and shifted on the sofa so that he would have enough space to lie down. Nodding eagerly, Rhian quickly rushed to get his comforter, before pushing it up onto the sofa and climbing up as well. He hesitated then, not sure if Marvolo would want him to use his body as a pillow for the next five hours, but then the man pats his knee, answering his question. Lying down, he smiled brightly up at the wizard and pulled his blanket up before falling asleep within seconds. The thought that the Diary sadly did not feel as nicely warm as a real human was a mere whisper in the back of his mind, as he relished in the feeling of security and care.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

It seemed as if only a few minutes had passed, when he heard a dark voice calling him: “Rhian! Wake up! It is time for your lessons!”

Stretching and yawning, it took a moment until the memory of the day came back to him, and he snapped his eyes open.  
“I am up! I am up!” he said and practically fell from the couch in his haste to oblige.  
“Then change into your new clothes, I will not tolerate those horrid muggle clothes any longer,” Marvolo remarked, before turning around and walking back to their seating area.

Rhian meanwhile went over to his new cupboard, opened it and stared at the many items inside. He had no idea what shirt or trousers he should choose, so in the end he just pulled a pair of clothes out randomly. It turned out to be a silvery tunic and a rather tight looking pair of dark grey suede leather trousers.

When he was finished, he found Marvolo sitting at the coffee table with two scrolls, and to Rhian’s confusion, two very ancient looking feather quills and ink bottles in front of him. One of the scrolls he could see was already filled with a row of letters and as soon as he sat down, the Diary started his first writing lesson.

“Words consist of syllables and each syllable consists of a different number of letters. Thus, to be able to write, you first have to know which letter stands for what sound and then recognize them in the word you wish to write down.”  
Marvolo continued to read each letter out, or rather the sound of the letter, because apparently their names and sounds was not always the same. Then Rhian had to repeat the line until he could do it without any mistakes, before the lesson continued.

“If we take my name as an example, what syllables does it consist of?”  
Rhian pondered the question for a moment. He had no idea what syllables really where, even after the explanation, but he had once seen his aunt practice splitting up words with Dudley with the help of clapping. Could Marvolo be meaning that? Thinking that guessing would be better than giving up immediately, he split the Diary’s name up in his head, before repeating it hesitantly: “Mar-vo-lo?”  
“Correct,” the memory confirmed and went on.

His writing lesson continued for three more hours. Marvolo let him split up more words, until he was sure that Rhian had understood the concept perfectly, before making him practice the capital letters and lower cases.

Learning reading and writing took more time and concentration than Rhian had imagined, but Marvolo told him that once he could read fluidly, he would send Malik for some of his old school books which Rhian then could read and practice basic spells with at the same time.

Marvolo truly was a good teacher, so Rhian was confident that he would be able to read in a couple of days, maybe a week at the most. Also, during his first lesson, he had gotten the feeling that he was not as stupid as his relatives always told him he was, and quite quick on the uptake.

Next he was taught some basic math, which took another three hours. Afterwards, even though his past self was not supposed to come back for another six hours, he was totally exhausted mentally and Marvolo actually let him catch up on some more sleep.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The following few weeks were brilliant; not even Dumbledore seemed as annoying as the Headmaster had been for the past two years, or at least, he felt so. But he also knew that it was only due to the fact that he was finally getting enough rest. Maybe he was also on some kind of knowledge-high, as it had indeed only taken him two more days to get the hang of reading and writing completely. Afterwards, as promised, Marvolo had given him a Charms textbook, as well as one about Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions and even a very ancient looking book on Basic Dark Spells. He had worked through them in record time, finishing all of them in only a month.

He knew he had been unbelievably fast; even Marvolo had raised his eyebrow and not believed him until he had tested his knowledge thoroughly. But while reading, it had been as if he had known most of those things already and only forgotten it at some point. Some information however, didn’t feel right to him, but he had no idea where the feeling came from. So for now, he just repeated what the books had said and hoped that he would find out in the future.

However, his good mood got a damper as his cousin’s Summer Holidays started. Dudley, being home the whole day, quickly grew bored and began tormenting him even more than he did throughout the school year. Of course he got blamed for everything that happened, be it a black eye he sported or the destroyed roses his cousin had cut down one morning to get him into trouble.

Once again his body was aching permanently (not that it had ever stopped completely, but with the Time Turner and Malik’s help the beatings had at least lessened somewhat) and especially Moody’s lessons had become hell. The Auror was a relentless trainer and in a way, even more ruthless than Marvolo.

While Marvolo had told him that at one point, they would start with practice duels and that he would not hold back (meaning that Rhian would be hit with a dark spell or curse if he wasn’t fast enough to shield or move out of the way), he also had said that they would not start dueling until Rhian had learned all the basics and at least some advanced magic.

Moody on the other hand, just kept sending curses after him to train his physical fitness, and even though he by now knew shields that would at least protect him from most of the Auror’s attacks, he could not use them because otherwise Dumbledore would find out that he was getting additional training.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

“I want you to get something for me,” Marvolo said one day as he was eating his breakfast. Having his mouth full, he threw the Diary a questioning look, who explained further:  
“My former familiar is still down in the Chamber of Secrets. She is unbound right now, so I want you to fetch her and bind yourself to her. Her name is Orsana. The releasing phrase to open her chamber is _‘Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Founders Four’_.”

Blinking, Rhian flushed a little as he didn’t understand what a familiar was. Neither Dumbledore nor Marvolo had told him anything about such a thing, but before he could ask, Marvolo had caught onto his expression: “What do you not understand now?” he asked sounding slightly exasperated. Rhian believed that the Diary had not quite realized how much Dumbledore had managed to keep him oblivious about, so each lesson consisted of a large amount of questions.

“What is a familiar?”  
“A familiar is a magical pet that binds itself to you and helps you with small tasks. Most common are owls, as they can carry letters; Orsana however, is a Basilisk,” Marvolo explained smoothly.  
“A Basilisk?” Rhian repeated. The memory had mentioned such a creature before, but he had no idea what exactly it was.  
“It is a rather large snake. You will need to shrink her to smuggle her out. And command her to lower her inner eyelids; otherwise her eyes are deadly, until she is bound to you.”

Nodding, he made a mental note to find a chance to sneak down to the Chamber of Secrets again. Maybe on his way to Moody… Maybe if he asked, Tonks would let him go a little earlier.

“Okay. I will try to get her today.... see you later then,” he said his goodbyes for the day and exited his room to floo over to the old fool.  
As he stumbled out of the hearth a moment later, he blinked in surprise when he found two other boys sitting on chairs in front of the great desk.

One was chubby, with dark brown hair, moss green eyes, a pale complexion and seemed very nervous. The other, was the complete opposite. He was a strawberry blonde that reminded him of a younger version of those surfer boys he often saw in one of Dudley’s series. His eyes were a bright ocean blue; he was tanned and wore a happy, eager expression.

“Ah Harry, good morning. Sit down my boy.”  
His head turned to Dumbledore, who was smiling his false grandfatherly smile once more and motioned him over to the empty chair, probably to introduce the other two boys. However, he didn’t understand what they were doing here. Dumbledore was not the kind who would care about his lack of friends, and as far as he knew, he was the only ‘Boy-Who-Lived’.

Sitting down to the chubby boy’s left; he shivered slightly as a weak pull seemed to draw him to the other kid. It wasn’t strong, and for a moment he didn’t realize what it was, but in this office, full of unpleasant, ‘Light’ magic it stood out strongly. The boy, while not a ‘Dark Wizard’, had to have a sort of ‘Dark Grey’ magic, if that was even possible. Marvolo and Dumbledore had only told him about dark and light so far, but he would ask the Diary when he finally returned in the evening. It certainly felt much nicer than anything else in this room.

“This, Harry,” Dumbledore started the introductions “is Neville Longbottom and Elijah Cohen.”  
The two boys smiled at him in greeting, Neville a bit shyly, and Elijah brightly and excitedly.  
“They will join you in your lessons from now on. They both have very strong ‘Light’ magic, just like your own, and I hope that they will be of great support in your future”

He quickly suppressed a snort. While the description fit the Elijah boy, Neville certainly wasn’t a ‘Light Wizard’. He may not be as ‘Dark’ as they come, but he was not far from it either.

“Now,” Dumbledore picked up the conversation again “I will send you to Professor Moody’s classroom. It is still fairly early, but you can use the time to get to know each other better. Off you go my boys.”

Surprised by the sudden dismissal, they all needed a moment to start moving. Rhian’s mind was running a mile a minute. This was the perfect opportunity to fetch Orsana, but he needed a good excuse to slip off. Thinking quickly, he decided on a simple story, and as soon as they had reached the gigantic staircase and were a good distance away from the old fool’s office, he excused himself:  
“Is it okay if I catch up with you in a bit? I lost my money pouch on my way to a lesson yesterday…” He crossed his fingers that neither Neville, nor Elijah would find his story important enough to tell Dumbledore, and that they wouldn’t realize that he was going into a direction where they never needed to be.

Thankfully the other boys nodded. Elijah seemed a bit disappointed and asked: “But you will come back soon, right? I have been so excited about meeting you since Professor Dumbledore told me that I would be taught with ‘Harry Potter’!”

Rhian cringed inwardly; he hated hero worshipping, even though it was only the second time he came across it. But his survival, if Dumbledore had even described it correctly, had been a fluke in his eyes, nothing worth getting overly excited over. And even if there truly was more to it, he couldn’t understand why people wouldn’t wait to see if he would be able to prove himself as an adult again. Furthermore, in his eyes, heroes were only normal people, maybe with a great gift in one area, or maybe they had just worked hard to achieve their goals. And anyway, what did those people think hero worshipping would get them? Surely not any favors?

Waving at them, he ran off into the direction of the Second Floor. Just as he had reached the unused girls’ toilet, he stopped, remembering Dumbledore’s tale about the ghost residing there. While he would have liked to talk to the girl and find out if she had some interesting information, he knew right now it was not a good idea. The ghost could be loyal to Dumbledore and tell him that he had opened the Chamber of Secret a second time.

Scowling, he peaked around the corner, but to his relief, he saw nothing. After calling out for the ghost and receiving no answer, he finally stepped inside and walked swiftly over to the sink.

However, as he tried to hiss out the command to open it, something inside of him clamped down on his magic, making him groan at the uncomfortable feeling. Dumbledore must have strengthened the restriction on his core again. He should never have allowed him to put it there in the first place, but with a sour expression, he realized that he would never have been able to stop the Headmaster. The manipulative old codger would probably have done it anyway, and grown suspicious of him on top of that.

But he needed to open the passageway. If Orsana had truly been alone down there since Marvolo’s sixth school year, that would mean she had been lonely for around 65 years and he could only imagine how horrible that must have been. He had been lonely for eight years and it had already drained nearly all of his spirit.

So he closed his eyes and pushed with his magic against the restriction. Maybe he would be able to break it if he only tried hard enough? The barrier around his core stretched and stretched until it was so thin that he could see through it, however, it did not give in. Collecting all reserves of his free magic, he pushed even harder, but nothing happened. His heart was by now racing at an alarming pace and he could hear his own blood swirl in his ears. His head began to throb, his heart rate grew irregular, but just as he was about to give up, a bit of his restricted magic leaked out of its containment, and knowing that this was his only hope, he mentally grabbed it and croaked out:

 _“Open!”_  
The sink began sinking down into the ground and he let go of his magic again, but to his surprise, that little bit of his parseltongue magic kept leaking out. Did that mean he would be able to speak to Orsana when he reached her? Well, he would find out once he was there.

Quickly, he jumped into the pipe and started to run as soon as he had reached the ground. The way to the Chamber of Secrets was not far, especially not now that he knew where to go. He had found the round gate open as he had left it, and thus stood in front of Salazar’s gigantic statue only two minutes later.

Concentrating again, he hissed _“Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Founders Four!”_  
For a second he was surprised at how easy parseltongue had come to him again, but then grinned broadly as the statue, which had stood with its arms crossed in front of its chest, stretched them out as if in welcome and opened his mouth.

However, the loud hiss that echoed through the chamber a second later, wiped the grin from his face and he took a cautious step backwards. And then the Basilisk appeared. When Marvolo had described her as a “rather large snake”, he had imagined something like a boa constrictor, but the reptile that slithered out of the open mouth like a gigantic tongue, was far bigger. She was wider than a tree trunk and at least 25 feet long. Her tongue flickered out, tasting the air, and just as her head snapped around; Rhian remembered Marvolo’s warning, lowered his head and hissed:  
_“Orsana, lower your inner eyelids. Marvolo has sent me!”_

For a moment everything was quiet and Rhian crossed his fingers. Hopefully Orsana would believe and listen to him, otherwise he had no idea how he would ever get away from the impressive predator; he was only a primary school student after all and had just started to learn magic about four weeks ago - the time with Dumbledore he did not count, as the old fool had not taught him much besides ducking and some light Defensive and Offensive spells that seemed rather weak in comparison to some things he had read in Marvolo’s books.

His nervous thoughts were interrupted when Orsana finally responded: _“You may look up now, young hatchling.”_  
Relief washed through Rhian’s body and he let out a sigh he had not been aware he had been holding.

Lifting his head, he saw that her eyes seemed strangely dim, but he supposed that it was due to the second pair of eyelids she had lowered.

 _“Where is my Master, hatchling? The bond broke,”_ Orsana suddenly hissed accusingly, stopping his train of thoughts. She lowered her gigantic body to the floor, and to his surprised, curled around him in what could only be called a protective or even affectionate move.

He blinked at the word ‘hatchling’, but then just presumed that it had to mean something similar to ‘child’ and just answered her:  
_“He…”_ he began, not really knowing how to phrase it. The truth would be that he had destroyed her former master’s body and that the wizard was now closer to death than to life, but he was afraid of what would happen if he told the snake. So making up his mind, he said:  
_“He had an accident a few years ago and is unable to fulfill his bond right now. But he sent me to bond with you if you accept me. I could take you to him afterwards so that you can speak to him in person.”_

Orsana examined him for a long moment. Her tongue flickered over his cheek and her eyes seemed to look directly into his soul. Finally she nodded as if she was satisfied with what she had found.

 _“I will accept you as my new master. I see strength of mind in your eyes, your magic is powerful and you are the hatchling. Look up into my eyes, baby serpent”_ she ordered and raised her head so that it hovered above him.

Rhian hesitated for a second. Looking directly into her eyes could potentially be deadly, but so far she had not attacked, and she had accepted him just now, hadn’t she? So he collected all his bravery and turned his face upwards. However, instead of meeting her yellow eyes, he was faced with her long, dagger-like fangs. Before he could process what was happening, two drops of some whitish liquid dropped down onto his face. His eyes started to burn like nothing before and belatedly he realized that the liquid had to be her venom. He hissed in agony and tried to rub the poison out, only to notice that it was drying quickly, before absorbing into his skin and eyeballs.

The burning stopped and as he blinked his eyes open, he was relieved that he could still see. In fact, his sight was better than before; he would not need his ugly, broken glasses any longer.

Knowing that far too much time had already passed, he pulled his wand out and explained: _“I will shrink you for now. I know it will not be very comfortable, but you have to hide in my pocket or somewhere where no one can see you. I still have some lessons before we can go home this evening.”_

Orsana merely seemed to wait for his spell, so he quickly shrunk her to the size of a garden snake, but before he could pick her up, she slithered up his shoe and into his trouser leg. He squirmed as her scales tickled his skin, but soon she had reached his stomach and curled around it.

Wasting no more time, he quickly turned around and made his way back into the Girls’ toilet. Luckily the ghost was still nowhere in sight and so, he found himself running down the second floor corridor only a few minutes later. Not looking where was going, he suddenly bumped into a slightly larger body as he stepped onto the staircase.

“Look where you are going!” snapped the voice of a boy, and as Rhian looked up, he saw that he had run into a boy that had to be around eleven years old. He had a pale, shimmering complexion, a pointy face, light blonde (almost white) hair and silver-grey eyes. A pleasant feeling was coming from him and without having to concentrate on him any further, Rhian knew that the boy had to be a ‘Dark’ Pureblood.

“Um… I am sorry, I didn’t see you,” he apologized, and even meant it.  
The boy looked down at him, arrogance shining in his eyes, and with the additional height of two heads he made Rhian feel rather small.

A single, perfectly shaped, thin blonde eyebrow lifted and he drawled: “Harry Potter. What are you doing here at Hogwarts? You are not of school age yet. By the way, my name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” the blonde added, as if the name should ring some bell, which it probably should have done, but he was still lacking a lot of knowledge about the wizarding world.

Rhian examined the boy for a moment. Sure, he seemed arrogant, but his dark aura was enticing. It felt kind of familiar, and he could feel his own magic trying to connect to it. He would have liked nothing more than to try and form a friendship, but with his situation as it was currently, he couldn’t do that. However, what he could do was try to give the boy a hint as to why he had to be careful right now:  
“I am being taught by Dumbledore, together with two others, Neville Longbottom and Elijah Cohen.” He hoped that at least the first name would be familiar to the boy, because Neville’s power level suggested that he was a Pureblood as well.

“Personal lessons with Albus Dumbledore? Congratulations, many students dream about having such an opportunity.” The blonde replied sounding totally sincere, but his sneer was a direct contradiction  
“Thank you. It really is great. I mean, he is the greatest ‘Light Wizard’ of our time,” he nodded in false agreement, making Draco’s sneer even more viciously.  
“He is a good teacher; I couldn’t imagine a better one. He is not only teaching me what I need to defend myself from ‘evil’ wizards and witches, but also how to play wizarding chess.” He continued, hoping that the young aristocrat would get his hidden hints.  
“I can imagine. Professor Dumbledore was always one for ‘helping’ the weak and helpless.”  
“Oh yes, I am really grateful. No one ever took such good care of me. Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to go to my next lesson now. Ex-auror Moody is training me and I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” he told the blonde with a wave, knowing that he would get into trouble if he spent any more time with the Pureblood, regardless of how much he wanted to.  
“Understandable,” Draco replied, waving as well. “I wouldn't wish to be late for his class either. I will give father your greetings. It was nice meeting you.”

There was a strange, excited gleam in the blonde’s eyes, but Rhian had no time to ponder about it further. Turning around, he ran all the way to the training room. Fortunately, the auror was still nowhere in sight, but he found Neville and Elijah sitting on a windowsill, talking quietly.

“Finally!” Elijah exclaimed as soon as he stepped into the room. “Neville was boring me to death with his stories about his Greenhouse!”

“You have a Greenhouse?” Harry asked, turning to Neville.  
“Hm… yeah… I know it’s a boring hobby…” the pudgy boy stuttered, his face growing bright red.  
“Don’t say that, plants are great. Taking care of my aunt's garden is my favorite work around my family’s house… that and cooking,” he told him, thinking back to the time when he had still been able to communicate with plants.  
His mood dropped a little, but seeing Neville’s face brighten, he smiled back thinking that the sad memory was worth it. And besides, one day he would get his magic back and be able to connect to plants and animals again.

“No, not you too!” Elijah groaned and threw his arms into the air. “Don’t tell me gardening and cooking are your only hobbies. I mean, I have read all there is about you and your family. Your father was an Auror and a Quidditch player when he went to Hogwarts…”

Rhian sneered inwardly as he thought about his ‘father’. Outwardly, however, he answered: “Yeah, but my mum liked books; I guess I just take more after her. What do you like to do in your free time?” he asked to move the conversation away from him.

“I really like all kinds of sports. I was on the football team at my school and on the weekend I often met up with blokes from the neighborhood to play some basketball. That was before the attack and before I knew about magic. Now in my new home, I have started to practice flying. Andromeda only has an old Cleansweep Four, but maybe I will get a newer model for my birthday,” Elijah said excitedly, and it took all Rhian had from wrinkling his nose. Doing something to keep one's body fit, like jogging, or even some martial arts to further battle skills, he could understand, but standing in midst of a loud crowd and cheering for some people who were chasing after a ball, he could not. That just sounded like a waste of time.

However, their conversation came to an end as a dull noise alerted them of the arrival of their Professor.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

When he finally returned to Marvolo, it was in a state of excitement. Sure, Elijah was a bit too hyper for his liking, but he was also not a bad guy, and he really liked Neville. The brunette was clearly a shy person, but he truly hoped that he would be able to befriend the quiet boy. That would make him his very first friend, as Marvolo continued to be adamant that they were only Student and Tutor, nothing more.

And also, he had managed to get Orsana. He had a familiar now! Maybe the Basilisk would become another friend in the future. Right now however, she was muttering and cursing about feeling sick and stupid exercises, from where she was still hiding under his t-shirt. Apparently, the hours of dodging, ducking, running around and changing directions had gotten to her stomach. Add to that the fact that the great beast was now merely 30 inches long and Rhian could understand her bad mood.

Entering his bedroom, he found Marvolo busy in a conversation with Malik. Or rather, he was ordering the House Elf around, who was apparently adding another room to their living space. Malik, Rhian had noticed, had quickly realized that his Master was currently not able to summon him, and Rhian assumed thus, that the servant had made it a point of checking in on Marvolo a few times each day.

Humming, he flopped down on his favorite armchair and watched the proceeding.  
“I know there is a chance of being discovered, that is why you will use the summoning-illusion to install the library.”  
“Yes Master, is Malik supposed to omit any kind of books or titles?” the elf bowed quickly, before straightening again.  
“No. I trust Rhian’s mental capabilities,” the Diary replied and Malik disappeared. Whether he had returned to Marvolo’s house or into the new room, Rhian couldn’t say, and he wasn’t interested in it either as his brain was stuck on the word library and all the possibilities that could mean.

Marvolo had promised to teach him more than just the typical school curriculum of Hogwarts and to lend him books, but he had not expected that he would get them so soon, or that the memory would transfer his whole collection to Privet Drive. But then again, they were progressing quickly with the textbooks, and after a few weeks of very thorough basic explanations of all kinds of magical theory, they were becoming more and more boring with each additional lesson from Marvolo.

The Diary stepped to the side then, and Rhian’s eyes widened. The extra room was not the only change in his former cupboard. New shelves had been added close to his bed, filled with drawing materials, puzzles and children’s books, not textbooks, but real novels written for his age group. In a way, Marvolo had just given him a children’s room.

“What a rare occurrence,” Marvolo’s voice interrupted his musings then. Looking up, he gave his tutor a questioning look.  
“Such a good mood after a whole day in Dumbledore’s proximity.”

Rhian sneered, but his good mood came back quickly. “I got two classmates, and one of them is really nice. I also managed to sneak away and get Orsana,” he explained, before remembering that he had yet to tell her that she did not need to hide anymore. However, before he could do so, Marvolo hissed a short command and the serpent started to slither down his stomach until her head was poking out from under his shirt.

 _“Old Master,_ ” she hissed in greeting and bowed her scaled head.  
Marvolo stretched his hand out and Orsana slithered quickly up to his shoulder.  
_“Welcome to our current home, my dear. I apologize for the lack of space, but Rhian is currently forced to share a house with Muggles.”_  
The snake hissed, narrowed her already slit eyes and looked around.  
_“It will do for now, old Master. But how did the hatchling find himself among filthy Muggles?”_  
_“They are supposedly his family, although they do not deserve the title.”_  
If possible, Orsana sneered at that remark, but Rhian, who was listening intently, was not sure if snakes could actually do so.  
_“Of course they are not worth the title of your…”_  
_“Hush, Orsana, the time is not yet right to expose this secret.”_

“What secret? Is it about me?” Rhian perked up and shot Marvolo a curious look, who turned to him, lifted his left eyebrow challengingly and replied: “It is, but as I said, it is not yet time for you to know.”  
“But I have a right to know!” he shot back.

“It is not yet time,” Marvolo told him with a warning look, and Rhian knew that there would be no sense in pursuing the topic further at this point. Besides, hadn’t the Diary kind of given him a promise that one day he would tell him?

Huffing, he gave up for the moment, but only because there was still another thing he wanted to ask about.  
“So, we have a library now?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage, which wasn’t very impressive if the look Marvolo gave him was anything to go by.  
“Not quite. The library you will find behind this door is merely an illusion. However, it is a strong one and will allow you to pull books out, read their covers and the table of content. You will have to say ‘summon’ and the title you desire to read, to receive the actual book.”

“Great!” Rhian exclaimed and jumped to his feet, but before he could take even one step into the direction of the new room, Marvolo stopped him:  
“Not so fast. Sit. I have a few questions myself and you will not leave until you have answered them to my satisfaction.”

Having an awful feeling that his tutor was about to quiz him on the lessons of the past few days, he grumbled quietly, but startled in bewilderment when all Marvolo asked was:  
“Tell me about the new students that now share the lessons with you.”  
“Um…” he began unintelligibly, before he pulled himself together, shook his surprise off and shrugged.  
“The first one is Elijah Cohen. He is a Muggleborn. He said his parents died recently, but Dumbledore asked some old witch to take him in so that he wouldn’t have to live in an orphanage…” he stopped when he saw Marvolo’s eyes flash with rage, but it was gone so quickly, that a moment later Rhian wasn’t sure anymore whether it had been the emotion which he had seen.

“Continue,” the Diary said and he decided that he must have been wrong, and continued with his description. “The other student is a boy named Neville Longbottom....”  
“Interesting,” said Marvolo, and Rhian paused in confusion. “Interesting?” he echoed. Marvolo was silent for a moment, pondering if he should answer this question or not, Rhian assumed, but finally the memory spoke up:  
“The Longbottoms were a well known ‘Dark’ family. However, when the Dark Lord Grindelwald rose to power in the early 1900’s, Dumbledore started influencing them, especially their daughter Augusta, who was a few years under me during school. Due to the old coot’s influence, the family started to fear the Ministry who had began to chase ‘Dark’ wizards and witches viciously. While Augusta's magic was ‘Dark’ as it was supposed to be, her son’s core was already graying, due to a marriage with a ‘Light’ witch. I presume that this Neville is her grandson. Have you felt more at ease in his proximity?”  
“Yes,” Rhian nodded. “I had the feeling that his core was more ‘Grey’ than ‘Light’.”  
“It most likely is,” Marvolo agreed, before falling silent, apparently deep in thought.  
“How can that be? I thought there are only two types of magic?” Rhian wondered, remembering his earlier question.  
His tutor only sneered.  
“Originally, there was only one kind of magic and it had nothing to do with ‘Light’ or ‘Dark’, and till today this fact has not changed, even though people like the Headmaster likes to spout this nonsense and divide our world.”  
Frowning, Rhian scooted closer to his tutor and said: “I don’t understand,” knowing that Marvolo would explain further.

“Magic is the most powerful force in the universe. However, at the same time, it is nothing more than that; a power. It has no moral code. There is no good and evil part to it. However, at some point in history, people began to moralize it. Certain spells fell from grace, however, by avoiding and denying certain aspects of the powers that has been given to us so generously, those people started to weaken their bloodline. With each generation that followed those new practices, the heirs grew weaker and weaker. Their lifespan shortened and their wisdom and wealth slowly disappeared as magic stopped to bless them.”

“As magic stopped to bless them? Is magic a real person?” Rhian echoed.  
“Yes and no. You could say that for us, magic is what gods are for Muggles. Only that magic truly exists, while the muggle gods are nothing more than a figment to soothe their souls. Magic is true, it is a living entity and it guards over those wizards and witches who follow her laid out path.”

Frowning, Rhian tried to work through what he had learned. It sounded so simple at first, but the more he thought about it, the more complicated everything seemed. After a long moment he decided to give up for now, as his eyes swept over to the new door in his room and he asked:

“So, can I go to the library now?”  
The Diary, even though he must have startled him, didn’t show anything and just answered “No.”  
“Why not?” he asked slightly annoyed. A library. That had always been his dream, after learning how to read and write of course. Now he had one only a door away and Marvolo insisted to ask questions which, in his opinion, could wait another day or two.

However, instead of answering his question, Marvolo asked: “Did you have time to get to know Orsana? The bond to a familiar, at least if the creature is as powerful as her, can still break if it is not nurtured enough. You need to trust and rely on each other.”

Searching with his eyes for the shrunken basilisk, Rhian shook his head. “I just had time to fetch her and get to class. I had to tell Neville and Elijah that I had lost my money pouch to get away in the first place… but I will spend time with her and get to know her, I promise,” he quickly added.

“Good,” Marvolo inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You may leave, but I expect you to lie down in an hour. We cannot afford to disrupt our schedule.”

Rhian wanted to protest, but he knew Marvolo was right. Besides, the memory had not told him that he would not have time to go back to the library during his second day, thus he quickly scrambled from the armchair and left the room.


	4. The Escapee

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_(Rhian age 9)_

**  
**  
**_“Lord and Lady wish to speak to the young Master.”_ **

**_Looking up from the scroll he had been reading, he nodded as a sign that he had understood. “Tell mother and father that I will be there shortly,” he told his family’s house elf. The little creature disappeared with a bow, leaving him to roll the scroll up neatly, before standing up and placing it into its velvet container. The scroll was a relic from the Ancient Egyptians, far too priceless to let it lay around unprotected for even a minute. It was a fascinating text and he was looking forward to continue studying it, however, it would have to wait until he had spoken to his parents._ **

**_Leaving his chambers he walked down one of the long hallways of Serpents’ Court, his family’s Manor Not many people knew where the great Manor was located, and he loved the peace and quiet it offered. Most people in fact believed that they lived at the school his father had co-founded; however, while Salazar loved Hogwarts, he did not love it quite that much. Besides, the castle could not compete with the oriental beauty of Serpents’ Court._ **

**_With rich green, blue and silver mosaics ornate marble walls and floors, and small fountains and ponds, made for a calm atmosphere. His father himself had designed the Manor as a piece of home in this foreign country. However, Marvolo knew that he did not miss his home country nearly as much as this statement may have suggested, after all, he had found his soulmate here in Albion._ **

**_Descending the grand staircase, he turned left and walked down the second floor until he had reached his father’s private office, wondering what could be important enough for his parents to call him down so late in the evening._ **

**_He knocked twice and waited for admittance, before entering the familiar room. The first thing he noticed was that the light was dimmed and his mother, beautiful as ever, sat reclined on the settee in the far left corner, his father next to her._ **

**_Strong and powerful as he was, at the moment Salazar seemed worried. It was not the first time he had witnessed such a scene, after all, his mother Morgain Lefay was well known for her powerful third eye, and not every vision she received was a positive one._ **

**_“Mother, father, you called for me?” he greeted them with a slight bow and sat down in the free armchair across the settee. His eyes flickered back and forth between his parents, trying to determine how bad or life-changing the news he would receive would be, however, their faces were unreadable._ **

**_Then his mother stretched out one of her slender hands. A sphere of blue light appeared hovering over her palm and a moment later her voice began to flood out of it, strangely deep and distorted sounding:_**

 ** _The time of darkness draws near  
For there is one who perverts Magic without fear.  
Magic is balance and magic heeds rules  
For those who pervert are truly only fools._**

 ** _When magic is weakened there is still hope,  
For the Serpent Lord’s son with Magic’s ritual will invoke.  
Beware hardship with his son will come,  
But without it, hope for all is none._**

 ** _Together they will put to right what was wrong,  
The fool had perverted history for too long.  
With false face he presents to the world,  
His lies will be unraveled for all time unfurled._**

 ** _“Marvolo, do you remember you lesson on the ‘Magica in Corpus Invocare-Ritual’?” his father asked._ **

**_Marvolo’s eyes widened. Of course he remembered that specific lesson. The ritual was legendary; more tempting than a Philosopher’s Stone, and more dangerous at the same time. No real wizard or witch had not heard about it._ **

**_“It appears, one day you shall be the one to invoke it.”_ **

Rhian awoke with a gasp. Keeping his eyes closed, he started thinking. What kind of crazy dream had that been? And that kid, it had looked a lot like Marvolo. But no, that could not be true. His mind had to be playing another prank on him. The way they had been talking, their clothes, it all had seemed like something from at least a few centuries ago, like right out of the middle ages.

And then there had been their looks. Salazar Slytherin and Morgain Lefay; they had looked unlike any human he had ever seen. There had been something ‘Dark’ about Slytherin, something dangerous and predator like, while the woman had been beautiful like a dark fey. Unnaturally even.

No, this truly could not have been anything other than his fantasy going out of control.

Rhian’s eyes shot open, something was tickling his cheek. Still half asleep, he lifted his hand to chase whatever it was away, only to encounter a slender, scaled body. Orsana hissed, affronted, and he quickly mumbled out an apology. After all, he had noticed in the 24 hours he had spent with her, that she was a vain creature. Marvolo had only smirked at his remark and told him that all snakes, regardless of their size and actual looks, strength or intelligent, where rather self important.

 _“G‘morning Orsana, how was your night?”_ he greeted his familiar, still a bit sleepy.  
_“It was good, thank you Master.”_ she replied and coiled up on his chest.  
_“So, why have you woken me up so early? You know, I could have slept in for once.”_ he asked, even though he was not truly annoyed, or at least not because of her. He already had slept longer than usual, but what dragged his mood down, was the lunch he would have to attend with Ginevra, her family and Dumbledore.

 _“I am hungry. Can I eat one of those filthy, unworthy muggles?”_ his familiar hissed, her head cocked slightly.  
Chuckling, Rhian sat up. _“I wish you could, but Dumbledore would get suspicious, and besides, I would have to unshrink you and you wouldn’t fit into my relative’s house. But I could open a window for you and you could go hunt some mice or rabbits,”_ he proposed.  
Orsana huffed, but nodded and slid off his chest and down the bed before making her way over to the nearest window.

Standing up, Rhian followed her and let her go outside, before turning to the seating area where, as usual, a breakfast worthy of a king was waiting for him as well as Marvolo.  
“Good morning,” he greeted the Diary, who was once again engrossed in a book, but placed it to the side and made room for him so that he could join the man on the couch and snuggle up to him. It had become a daily routine that they started their day like this, and he was hoping that the bedtime story from the previous evening would also become such a routine.

However, this morning as he snuggled closer, he noticed that his mentor was feeling even colder than usual, and frowned.

“Are you not feeling well?” he asked out loud, while his mind helpfully provided the information that a magical artifact could hardly feel unwell, regardless of how human it may seem.

Marvolo looked up frowned as well and answered: “Indeed, I do not feel as powerful as usual. When was the last time you poured some of your magic into the Diary?”

Thinking about it, Rhian replied: “Only two days ago. Do you need more?” he added and before the memory could answer, he stretched his hand out and let some of his magic flow into the enchantment.

“That will be sufficient,” Marvolo stopped him after a few seconds.  
“So, what are we going to do until I have to go to that stupid luncheon?” Rhian asked through a mouth full of warm waffles with whipped cream and strawberry sauce.  
“Swallow first, and then ask. The Heirs of Noble Houses should not behave like pigs during a feeding,” Marvolo sneered, but proceeded to answer: “I have nothing particular planned for this morning; however, I believe you still have to try out your new toys.

A happy smile split his face nearly in two and he nodded eagerly, but then he faltered and asked: “But what will you be doing while I am playing?”  
Marvolo lift his left eyebrow in that special manner that Rhian had learned by now meant that the man found his question especially stupid and blushed. Ducking his head between his shoulders, he mumbled: “Right, you entertain yourself every day when I am at Hogwarts…”  
“Indeed,” Marvolo replied. “However, depending on what you decide to do, I might join you and tell you another story.”

The smile returned to his face, and Rhian rushed to finish his breakfast. Soon he stood in front of his three new shelves, looking at the items neatly stored there. He really wanted to hear another story, so he decided that he would pick something that could easily be done while listening. He ignored a strange card game with the name ‘Exploding Snap’ emblazoned on the box, and also the magical chess board, where the figures seemed to rage a war against each other, because Marvolo would certainly not be able to teach him chess and tell him a story at the same time. The other game just sounded loud, with the word ‘Exploding’ in the title. He also skipped over a few other toys he did not recognize, until his eyes fell onto a set of colorful pencils and a stack of thick, white paper. His eyes lit up; he had only been allowed to draw a couple of times in his life (when he had tried to draw those strange two dreams about the green light and the gigantic, flying motorcycle) which now hung above his bed since Malik’s redecoration.

Pulling the box with the pencils out, he looked at the bright package and read: Bring your pictures to life with Professor Sparkly’s Magical Pencils. It still felt amazing to be able to read, although in this case, he was not quite sure how the pencils were supposed to work, not after he had read in one book how complicated the charms for moving portraits and pictures were supposed to be.

However, he wouldn’t mind if his drawings couldn’t move in the end, he was just happy to be drawing again, and even more so for having found something during which he could easily listen to Marvolo.

Picking a few sheets of paper up as well, he walked back to the coffee table, which had been cleared of all breakfast items by now, put his utensils down and sat down in front of Marvolo, leaning against his leg. Sitting like this, supported by the strong man, he wished that Marvolo could be more than just a teacher. He would be the happiest child on earth if he had a father like the Diary, he didn’t even mind that the Diary was a part of the Dark Lord in some way; he couldn’t really believe that Voldemort was really evil either.

But Marvolo wasn’t his dad, and if the memory was right, he didn’t even have a dad right now, not even a dead one. Pushing the sad thought to the side, he told the wizard: “I have decided on drawing so that I can listen to your story.”  
Marvolo ruffled his hair and then asked in return: “What story would you like to hear? The story of ‘The Little Teapot’ or of ‘The Three Brothers’?”

Looking at his pencil set, he suddenly heard a strangely echoing voice say: **"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight ..."**  
Blinking in confusion, he looked up and over at his mentor, only to realize that Marvolo was still looking at him expectantly and had clearly not said anything. Shaking his head to get rid of that strange feeling of déjà vu that had overcome him, he answered as if in trance:

“The Three Brothers.”  
“Very well,” Marvolo replied, and to Rhian’s shock the first sentence that left the Diary’s lips after he had opened the right page was: "There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight ..."

Gulping, Rhian pulled a pencil out in an attempt to calm his racing heartbeat down. What was happening? He surely couldn’t be a seer? No, that gift manifested in a very early childhood, and he was past that stage. But what was happening then?

“I hope you are at least listening,” Marvolo’s sharp voice pulled him back to the present and he quickly forced his thoughts away from whatever that just now had been, and back to the white piece of paper in front of him.

He wanted to draw a picture of himself, Orsana, Jörmy and Marvolo, so that he would always be able to see them. Looking at the pencil, he once again wondered how that “bringing to life” was supposed to work, but then it hit him. How could he have been so stupid? They were magical pencils, so he was probably supposed to let his magic flow through the device into the color-in process. So while Marvolo started his tale in his deep, calming voice, Rhian started to draw his ‘family picture’. He did not see Marvolo’s raised eyebrows as the man leaned over him to get a look at his work an hour later, neither did he see how the expression changed into something warm.

Far too quickly Marvolo called their time together to an end and told Rhian that he had to change into his cast-offs and floo over to Dumbledore’s office.  
He couldn’t suppress the sneer as he once again pulled a far too large, washed out t-shirt over his head and slipped into worn summer trunks that should only reach to his knees but actually brushed the ground a little.

“It is disgusting that your ‘cousin’ fits into these trousers,” Marvolo sneered and gave the garment a look as if he wanted to set it on fire, which Rhian could only support. Unfortunately, it would make Dumbledore suspicious, so he just nodded, waved at the wizard and slipped out of his room.

His aunt just came out of the kitchen, her arms laden with a huge tray filled of cool drinks and ice-cream for her family. “Don’t be back too late, boy, or there will be no dinner for you!” she snapped at him, but thanks to the help of Marvolo and Malik, he had learned to ignore those commands. After all, they could not hurt him any longer.

A minute later he stumbled out of Dumbledore’s hearth and looked around for the wizard. However, the old fool was nowhere in sight, instead, the air was filled by a strange coldness that seemed to pierce through to his bones. Frowning, he walked over to the window to look outside, and check if it was snowing instead of burning hot outside. At first glance he could see nothing strange. The sun stood high in the clear, blue sky and no cloud was too be seen.

But then he saw it; in the distance near the looming forest of Hogwarts, he saw strange black shapes. He would have thought them to be shadows, but they clearly moved. In fact, they seemed to turn to him and move closer, as if sensing him. A particularly huge shadow was gliding to the front of the line, and even though Rhian could not see its face, he felt as if their eyes met over the distance. A feeling of recognition flared inside of him and the coldness subsided. For a long moment he stared at the creature in a trance-like state until the sound of a door snapped him out of his trance.

“Good day my boy,” Dumbledore greeted him. “I see you have already noticed the addition to our grounds.”  
“What are they?” he asked, even though he doubted that he would get a useful answer from the old fool. However, this time the Headmaster answered without hesitation:  
“They are Dementors. Usually they guard Azkaban, the wizarding prison, however one of the most dangerous followers of Voldemort has escaped and they were sent here to keep the students safe.”

Turning to look outside again, Rhian found the tallest of the Dementors still watching him, if that was even possible with the wide grass field stretched out between them.  
“They are frightening creatures, are the not?” Dumbledore asked in a conversational tone of voice. “They live off of people’s good memories, leaving nothing more than sadness and despair behind.”

He hummed non-committedly; to him they didn’t seem all that frightening.  
“Now, my boy, we have to leave, or Mrs. Weasley will be quite upset if we miss her excellent roast,” Dumbledore said commandingly, and Rhian forced his eyes away from the forest. He wanted to sneer as the old wizard waved him over to step into the hearth beside him, but quickly suppressed the urge as well as the shiver of disgust that rose inside of him as the old man placed a wrinkled hand onto his shoulder. He hated the Headmaster’s aura and he wasn’t sure about this visit either. Truth to be told, he was suspicious about the family. Firstly, because they were acquaintances of the old fool and secondly, because he already didn’t like their daughter, despite not really having much contact with her so far. But the impression he had gotten from her aura had already been enough, at least, in his opinion. On the other hand, he hated judging people too quickly, it had happened to him far too often.

“The Burrow,” Dumbledore said and they were whisk away, only to be spat out in a kitchen that looked utterly cluttered a second later. With a guarded expression, his eyes scanned a huge kitchen table where eight miss-matched chairs had been placed around it. There was a strange, magical clock hanging on one wall, with things like ‘time for tea’, written on it instead of the hour. The appliances looked as if they had been modern a few centuries ago. There was a certain, homey feeling in the air, but while he had clearly landed in a wizarding home, it was certainly not one of those elegant manors Marvolo had mentioned, even though Dumbledore had told him that the Weasley’s were Purebloods.

“Albus!” The voice of a woman could be heard, and in the next moment a plump, red haired witch with a bright smile bustled in.  
“So good to see you,” she said “and you too, Harry dear.”  
He had no time to flee as she pulled him into a suffocating hug, and it took all of his strength to not push the Light Witch away.  
“Hello, Molly,” Dumbledore greeted her, and she finally let go of him. “I hope you and your family are doing well?”  
“Of course, Albus, of course. It took a few days but our nerves finally calmed down again. But we should go outside; I have set the table there. It is a beautiful day and we will have much more space in the garden than in our small kitchen.” She led the way to a backdoor that stood slightly ajar, and from which Rhian could hear the voices of more people wafting in. Sighing inwardly, he followed the two adults and stepped into a garden that in his opinion didn’t deserve the title.

A large meadow stretched out for miles in front of him. Here and there he could see some fruit trees, but there were no flower beds, no neatly laid paths, ponds, benches or anything else that usually made a garden into a garden. On a huge, bare field stood a large table, loaded with all kinds of dishes, but that was it. His aunt certainly would have had a fit if she ever had to set food into a garden like this.

His eyes wandered further, over to the group of redheads that stood next to the table; he couldn’t actually believe how many there were. Counting heads, he came to a total of six boys plus the daughter and the father, and for a moment he felt slightly overwhelmed by the large group of Light Witches and Wizards.

Suddenly, two identical heads turned as if they had sensed him looking. They elbowed their father, who turned as well, waved at him with a friendly smile, and then motioned for his children to take a seat, before coming over.

“Welcome to ‘The Burrow’, Harry,” he greeted in a friendly voice. “My name is Arthur and I am the father of this lot over here. Let me introduce you to them,” the wizard added and led him over to the table. All eyes focused on him as he came to a halt in front of them. Ginevra was blushing furiously and giggling, but he merely ignored her as usual.

“Now, you know my daughter Ginny already who is eight,” Arthur said and gestured to the giggling girl. “The boy to her right is our oldest, Bill. He finished Hogwarts last year and is now apprenticing as a Curse Breaker. The one next to him is Charlie, who is in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Then we have Percy, thirteen; Fred and George will start their first year after the summer and finally Ronald, who is the same age as you.

To his horror he was pushed over to an empty chair between Ginevra and Ronald. Knowing that he could not protest, he obediently made his way over and sat down. Ginevra instantly scooted closer with her chair, but fortunately, before she could say anything, Arthur spoke up again:

“I think I speak for all of us, when I say thank you for saving Ginny. Harry, you saved our daughter and our sons’ only sister, and therefore we will forever be in your debt.”  
Rhian was about to wave him off, wanting no forever lasting ties to this family, when Molly stood up as well and cleared her throat.

“Harry my dear, when Ginny went missing and Albus’ owl arrived; we were scared that we wouldn’t ever see our beloved daughter again. We feel that a thank-you is far too little… you have lost so much in your young life already, and just like you have given us a part of our family back, we have decided to return the favor. Therefore, Dumbledore and I agreed on a marriage contract between you and Ginny, making you not only our beloved daughter’s future husband, but also our honorable seventh son!”

Rhian paled. A marriage contract? Was that even legal? He was a minor after all and couldn’t sign a contract yet. Panicked, he looked around, but seeing the old fool’s sly smile, horror rose inside of him. His mind started to work at a hundred miles a second; he needed to find a way out of this crazy new scheme of the Headmaster, but all his brain came up with was Marvolo’s comment that most traditional wizarding contracts were binding and unbreakable.

He didn’t want to marry Ginevra; that would be like a nightmare come true. He couldn’t stand the girl, her ‘Light’ aura made his skin crawl, her voice grated on his nerves, and he felt far too young to think about a thing like marriage. Truth to be told, just the thought of marrying Ginevra, having to be close to her and spend more time with her felt so wrong.

The girl didn’t even know him. Her blatant hero-worship made him feel sick; he wasn’t the knight in shining armor she imagined him to be. Honestly, hadn’t the fact that he had never shown up to visit her in the Hospital wing, been hint enough?

And besides, he was just building up a life he had always dreamed about, he was learning magic and History and all the other important things Dumbledore would never teach him; he certainly wouldn’t risk it by marrying into a family that was so close to the old coot.

Did Molly even care about him, or did she only plan to use him like the Headmaster already was? He got enough of that treatment from the Dursley’s and Dumbledore, hell he wouldn’t allow a third party to exploit him! Sure, the Weasley’s didn’t seem the type who would make him work like a House Elf, but instead he would probably be penniless within a year; it wasn’t hard to guess that the family had some financial issues after all.

Angry, he grabbed the nearest thing, a fork, to keep himself in check.  
“Wow, cool! The Boy-Who-Lived will be my brother!” he heard Ronald’s voice exclaim in the background, but he was too furious and desperate to react. However, one voice finally managed to pull his attention back to the conversation:  
“Oi Forge?” one of the twins exclaimed and he sounded so affronted and baffled, that Rhian looked up.  
“Yes Gred?” the other answered.  
“Has someone even asked our dear Savior if he even wants our pesky-nasty little sister?”

Glancing around he finally noticed that not every Weasley looked as delighted at the prospect of marrying him to their daughter as Molly and Ronald had done; in fact those two were the only two out of the bunch of redheads.

Charlie looked confused and Bill, Percy and Arthur were clearly frowning.

“Molly Wobbles,” the Weasley-head finally spoke up. “The twins have a point. Harry and Ginny are far too young; we cannot say if they will fall in love one day, and I don’t condone marriage contracts, you know that. It is an overflow relic of the past, used only by Purebloods who cannot accept that the world has moved on. Besides, I wish for my children to find true love, just as I had the fortune of doing.”

“But dad, I love Harry!” Ginevra interjected, but Arthur looked ready to ignore her for the time being, however, Molly took on the defense of her daughter and her plan:  
“I know, dear, but I believe that Ginny and Harry are perfect for each other and so does Dumbledore. Can’t you see how perfect it is? They will unite the two most powerful and influential ‘Light’ families of Britain; it will not only make them happy, but also be a huge asset to the war.”

Dumbledore nodded along and Arthur sighed. “Ginny, are you sure in a few years, or even thirty or fifty years time, you will still feel the same about Harry? Don’t rush your decision; I’m not saying that you cannot marry him later on… even without a contract it would still be possible.”

“I can!” Ginevra replied stubbornly, crossing her arms. “Harry has saved me and I love him; and what better way to prove my love than an unbreakable contract?”

Her father nodded, clearly still not happy with his daughter’s words, and to Rhian’s surprise, turned to him: “Do you feel the same, Harry, I will not force you into anything you do not truly want.”

Relieved, he opened his mouth, but before he could say a word he felt a wave of strong, ‘Light’ magic wafting over Arthur, and brushing over him. Dumbledore spoke: “Of course he feels the same Arthur, or do you think I would allow such a serious commitment otherwise? Harry in fact searched me out the day after he rescued Ginny and asked me to help secure their future together and that is why I proposed a traditional contract to your wife.”

Arthur seemed to calm down instantly and nodded. Rhian just knew that the old fool had worked some kind of magic, compulsion, most likely.

“Well then,” the oldest redhead said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Let us not waste any more time to sign the contract, so that we can celebrate this joyous event with Molly’s excellent cooking!”

He paled again and sprung to his feet, he would fight tooth and nail before he would allow Dumbledore to tie him eternally to that annoying girl and her family of blind, weak minded fools. However, a spell hit him and he found himself unable to utter a single word.

Furious, he watched as Dumbledore waved his wand in a complicated pattern, conjuring a long scroll seemingly out of nowhere, a twinkle in his eyes, before pulling a golden quill from his robe and handing it to Arthur.

“I have already signed, my boy,” the old wizard told Arthur, who nodded and bent forward to sign the contract.

Instinctively, Rhian drew his magic more tightly around himself, trying to form it into an impenetrable barrier. Arthur’s hand moved, magic flared from the contract and then exploded outwards. He could practically see how it hit Ginevra, so powerful was the ancient binding, before shooting towards him. Closing his eyes, he braced himself. The magic hit, and to his shocked relief he could feel his barriers holding. They trembled slightly, but continued to fight the spell off and a moment later it seemed to slide off of them, like rain from a glass window. Relieved, he let out a breath he had not been aware of holding and slumped back in his chair.

Ginevra squealed and began to jump up and down happily, but this time, it did not annoy him, instead, it only made him smirk inwardly. They had not succeeded, and next it would be his move. He would make sure that the girl would regret her selfish attempted, and Marvolo would certainly assist him.

Arthur and Molly came over to hug their daughter and congratulate her for finding love so early and securing such a good match, but he barely noticed them, his mind still being occupied with thoughts of revenge.

Finally the buzzing calmed down and Molly waved at the many bowls and plates that had been kept warm by a charm. Harry could feel it, and he actually shuddered at the thought of eating something that had been touched by the woman’s magic. But knowing that Dumbledore was watching him, he put a little of everything onto his plate ad tried a little. It tasted as appalling as he had imagined. That was about the only reason why he was almost glad to hear Ginevra speak again:

“I cannot wait until we get to Hogwarts and can see each other every day! It will be so romantic; almost as if we were living together already… my friends will be so jealous.”

“And you can join the Quidditch team for Gryffindor!” Ron piped in. “Mum told me that your dad was really talented; I bet you have inherited his skills. Slytherin won the house cup for far too many years already, but we will kick their…”  
“Ronald Weasley!” his mother chided and Rhian was relieved when the redhead blushed, ducked his head and turned back to his plate.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

“Mum, can we get up now?” Ronald asked a while later, clearly eager to leave the table and the adult’s conversation.  
“Sure my dear, why don’t you show Harry the gnome-throwing game?”

Rhian’s raised his eyebrows. Gnome-throwing game? What kind of poor-people’s game was that supposed to be? He was quite sure if it was a common sport in the wizarding world, Marvolo would have told him; he had taught him the rules of Quidditch and Wizarding Chess after all. 

Suppressing a sneer of disgust, he rose to his feet and followed the group of children. Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins were still glancing at him sympathetically, or in Bill’s case, with a mixture of a frown that was disrupted by a smirk now and then.

“Hey Gin, Ronnikins, make yourself useful and fetch some gloves, will you?” He suddenly asked, and Rhian watched as the oldest boy watched his baby brother and sister until they were out of earshot. He wasn’t really surprised when suddenly five pairs of sky-blue eyes settled on him.

“The contract didn’t work, did it?” Bill stated.  
He examined the redhead for a minute, pondering how much he would entrust these boys with. They hadn’t mentioned anything to their parents so far, in fact, Bill even seemed rather pleased, while looks of relief flashed over the other’s faces at the statement, and something inside of him was telling him that he could trust at least these five Weasley’s. Their aura’s where not a blindingly white, but more of different shades of grey. Whatever the reason, they clearly were not as deep in the old fool’s pocket as their parents and youngest siblings.

So he inclined his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t give more away just yet.

“That’s…” one of the twin’s started, George, Rhian believed, his aura was the tiniest bit lighter than his brother’s if he remembered correctly.  
“...some crazy luck you had there, mate.” the other finished.

Feeling still slightly suspicious, Rhian narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms and asked: “Why are you not telling your parents? Will you sister not be sad and angry when she finds out?”

The siblings shared a look that seemed to cover an entire conversation, finally Charlie said: “You clearly don’t love Ginny, so it’s wrong,” shrugging.  
“It is also illegal to use compulsions to set up such an agreement,” Percy added with a sneer, before the twins interrupted him.  
“And honestly? Who would want to marry our dear little baby sister?”

His eyebrows shot even higher, but Charlie just shrugged once again and said:  
“She has a nasty temper, even worse than mom.”

Their short exchange came to an end when they heard the footsteps of Ginevra and Ronald returning. Ginevra instantly stepped up to Rhian, who barely managed to not step back in disgust.

“I got you our best pair of gloves,” she said, took one of his hands and gave him what probably was meant to be a sweet smile, before pulling one glove over it.  
The leather was already worn in some places, but a single look at the pairs her brother gave out, told him that she had been right; this was clearly the newest one.

The sneer threatened to return onto his face, but he frowned at himself. No, it wasn’t the glove he wanted to sneer at, he wasn’t rich either and used to far more worn down things.... no, it was everything else that appalled him. So he quickly took the other glove from the girl, turned around and addressed her older brothers again: “So, what are the rules for the gnome-throwing?” He could feel Ginevra pout behind her, but before she could say anything, her stupid older brother spoke up:

“It’s quite easy. We have many gnomes hiding in our bushes, so just grab one and then throw it over the fence as far as possible.”

So, we are basically cleaning the garden? He thought to himself, but outwardly he only nodded. He couldn’t actually believe the nerve of Mrs. Weasley; he should be a guest in her home, not do the dirty work.

However, when he saw the ashamed faces of the other Weasley children, he gave them a small, reassuring smile; they weren’t at fault here.

The game turned out to be more fun than he had actually expected, but it still bugged him. Charlie clearly was the fittest out of all of them, but the brothers had fun nonetheless, even the book-wormish looking Percy, and it was kind of infectious. He, being the smallest out of all of them with the exception of his “betrothed”, still managed quite a good third place after the oldest two; apparently Moody’s horrible exercises had been good for something after all. The afternoon would have been even more fun, if Ginevra had not tried to cling to him whenever it was not his turn, and Ronald had stopped babbling about how they would be the most popular boys in school once they had started there. Even more important than “Malfoy that stupid git”.

At that, Rhian wanted to snort. There was no way Ronald Weasley would be more popular than the well educated and poised blonde.

He didn’t know how many hours had passed when Mrs. Weasley’s magically enhanced voice called them and they made their trek back to the house. He was glad that he would soon return to Marvolo again, despite the fact that not all of the redheads had turned out as horrible as he had expected. However, just as he walked past a small, crooked shack, his name was called.

“Harry!”

Stopping, he looked around, recognizing Arthur’s voice, but not quite sure where it was coming from.  
“I am in here,” the oldest Weasley said and he finally saw him peeking out of the hut and motioning for him to join.

He wondered if the wizard had noticed Dumbledore’s compulsion after all, but then dismissed the idea. He could sense Arthur’s aura and it wasn’t quite powerful enough to be able to fight the old coot’s magic off, especially not after it had settled.

Still, he stepped inside, curious as to what Arthur could want from him.

“Harry my boy,” the man started and Rhian wanted to scowl at the word “boy”; he was truly starting to hate it.  
“What is it, Mr. Weasley? Can I help you somehow?”  
Arthur chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, clearly unsure about something, but he made his mind up rather quickly, closed the door behind him and began:  
“Harry, there is something I think you need to know. Albus doesn't want you to know, he says you already have enough to deal with and I’m sure he is right… but…”  
He broke off again and Rhian, sensing that the man needed a little push, quickly promised: “I won’t tell anybody what you told me, I promise.”  
Arthur sighed in relief; it was strange how much some adults wanted to have their conscious soothed by a mere child.

“Have you heard about the criminal that broke out of Azkaban?” Mr. Weasley finally continued, his voice barely more than a hushed whisper.  
Now Rhian was getting even more curious, was Dumbledore hiding something from him again? But then again, when didn’t the old coot do that?

“... Dumbledore told me about that. But what does that have to do with me?” he asked innocently, even though he could think of a couple of reasons why the escapee could come to concern him; for example, if the old fool thought it a good exercise to send him after the wizard.

“The thing is,” Arthur continued, clearly getting more and more nervous with every word he spoke. “The wizard who escaped, Sirius Black, he was… is… one of You-Know-Who’s most loyal followers! He…” the wizard broke off and rubbed his face “Oh Harry, I am not the right person to tell you this… such a tragedy it was…”  
“Arthur,” Rhian interrupted him before he could change his mind and gently placed a hand on the man’s forearm. “I am used to horrible, tragic stories... how could it be any different with what Voldemort did to my parents?”

Inwardly he congratulated himself, Marvolo would be so proud if he could see him right now. However, his thoughts came to an abrupt halt when two, by now very familiar, voices suddenly joined their conversation: “Yeah, dad. Harry is right. Just tell him. His has a right to know!”

He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t heard them enter. He would need to work on his observation skills.

Mr. Weasley gave him a sad smile, but then nodded. “Sirius Black was one of the best friends of your father… he was your godfather and he… he was the one who betrayed you and your family to the Dark Lord.”

Rhian’s eyes widened and he gasped in surprise. How could Dumbledore not tell him something so important? If that wizard was truly after him… but “if” was probably the crux of the matter here. However, his relationship with the Dark Lord could only be described as complicated at the best; with some part of the wizard being his mentor, but even those two had not interacted with each other for years.

Noticing that Mr. Weasley was giving him a worried look, he gave him a small smile and said: “I… don’t know what to think about this… I…”  
Arthur’s expression softened further. “Just promise me that you will be careful. And now off you go, back to your family, I am sure they are missing you already.”

The twins agreed with firm nods and he left the shack again. Dumbledore was already waiting for him, his usual twinkle in his eyes.  
“Ah, there you are, my boy. Let’s get you back home.”

Nodding, he said his goodbyes to all the Weasley’s. The older brothers all slapped him on the shoulder, but Ron asked: “Write me, mate?”  
He quickly shook his head, he knew how post was delivered in their world and the Dursley’s would pitch a fit if they saw an owl with a letter arrive at their house. Besides, he didn’t want to exchange letters with that stupid oaf anyway. “Sorry, but I am living with my muggle relatives,” he explained and Ronald who had looked insulted a moment before, brightened again and replied: “A pity, but I guess you will see us more often now anyway. I mean, with you practically being my brother-in-law.”

Ginevra hugged him as he finally stepped up to her. While he knew avoiding her in the presence of Dumbledore would be stupid, he managed to duck away from the kiss she had tried to give him, and five minutes later he arrived back in his aunt and uncle’s living room.

“There you are boy! The laundry is waiting for you in the cellar, get going!” His aunt greeted him as charming as ever, and the next few hours were spent with chores all over the house and garden.

When he finally returned to his room, Marvolo was already waiting for him. He snuggled into the side of the Diary, wishing that he could actually feel some warmth and life coming from the enchantment. But for the second time he found his mentor was colder than usual. Without asking this time, he pushed some of his magic into the artifact whilst at the same time trying to suppress the worry that was rising inside of him. Therefore he asked:

“How was your day at the ‘Blood Traitors’ house?”  
“‘Blood Traitors’?” Rhian repeated, having never heard that name before.  
“Yes, people who have denounced magic by using weakened versions of spells and denying some parts of our gifted power entirely,” the memory explained and then prompted him to recount his day.

“It actually wasn’t as bad as I had feared,” he smirked.  
“Really?” Marvolo asked and he nodded, suddenly eager to share his successful blocking of Dumbledore’s newest attempted to keep him under his thumb.

“Yeah, the old fool tried to force a binding betrothal contract upon me, but I gathered all my magic and it didn’t work!”  
Marvolo lifted his left eyebrow inquiringly, but he could only shrug. “I don’t know what I did exactly… I just didn’t want to be bound to her and I think my magic build a shield around me… you know, Ginevra is just as bad as we had imagined, even worse, I think. And oh!” he exclaimed throwing his arms up in a rare show of his young age “her brother, Ronald, is just as annoying! He calls me his ‘brother-in-law’ and has all these plans of me joining the Quidditch Team for Gryffindor, because my ‘father’ apparently was really good at the sport and of course I can be nothing other than a stupid lion myself. And then we will be the most popular duo in Hogwarts!” he sneered.

Marvolo chuckled and sat up straighter. “Is that all?”

Rhian shook his head. “Mr. Weasley took me to the side, just before we finally left.”  
“And what did that ‘Blood Traitor’ want from you?” the Diary sneered.  
Shrugging, he said: “He wanted to warn me. But I don’t think I have to worry about it.”  
“Oh?” was all the memory prompted.  
“Apparently one of your followers broke out of Azkaban. Some Sirius Black. But you can just tell me how to avoid him, right?” he explained, but as he looked up, he saw a frown on his mentor’s face.

“I am not in possession of my ‘True Self’s’ complete memory, but I do know that Sirius Black was the wayward son of Orion and Walburga Black... He was sorted into Gryffindor and ran away from home to live with the Potters only a few years later. I am quite certain that he never became one of my followers. But you should still be careful. If he was sent to Azkaban for being a Death Eater, it is likely that he was being framed, and there is only one person influenceable enough to pull off something like that. Dumbledore will be after him, if I am correct.”

Rhian made a face. “You think he will try to use me for this?”

“Probably, but planning something now will not help us as long as we do not know what exactly the old fool has in mind this time.”

Knowing that it would be back to their usual routine, Rhian got up to get ready for bed.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The following months were better and worse at the same time. Better, because Marvolo taught him even more complicated magic, magic that sent shivers of power through his body and finally gave him the reassurance that one day he would be able to break free from the manipulative old Headmaster. It was also better because he finally could do the things normal children his age did. They had quickly found out that he was rather talented in drawing and working with clay. That kind of reminded him of his one dream; the one where he was standing in an imaginary father’s office, looking at pictures he had drawn himself. In those dreams he had been good at drawing as well.

He also enjoyed his daily story time with Marvolo. The Diary switched between telling him typical wizarding fairy tales and legends, but also stories about historical and social events which, despite being essentially lessons, didn’t feel like it at all. He also continued to steadily read his way through Marvolo’s library; they had exhausted the standard school textbooks weeks ago.

Without realizing it, Rhian soon had caught onto the standard of knowledge of a Pureblood Heir, and succeeded it.

However, those months had also been worse, because the trip to the Weasley’s and his ‘betrothed’ had become an all too regular occasion. Mrs. Weasley invited him at least twice per month, more often, when her daughter became too annoying and insisting. Mostly he tried to keep to the oldest five Weasley brothers. However, one visit had been especially irritating as Ginevra had talked her parents into letting them have a proper date with ‘alone time’.

She had clung to him like a leech, stroked his bare forearms as if possessed and batted her lashes in what had been meant to be a seductive gesture. He hadn’t realized the goal of her strange behavior until Marvolo had explained it afterwards. However, as he had started to panic because of his clear lack of skill and observation, the Diary had only sneered and told him that it was totally normal at his age that he wouldn’t recognize the gesture and that it was rather disturbing that the young Ms Weasley, being even a year younger than he himself, already knew and enforced such tactics.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

Another good thing that had grown slowly, was his friendship with Neville and Elijah. While Elijah was certainly nice enough to talk to and was not a bad friend, his overly excited and all too ‘Light’ nature sometimes grated on his nerves. He also was a clear ‘Dumbledore’s boy’, so their friendship stayed rather platonic.

Neville’s magic in contrast, seemed to slowly, but surely darken, despite the lessons the old fool put them through, and the many strong ‘Light’ spells they were forced to learn. Secretly, Rhian believed it was due to the boy’s love for plants and Herbology, which was basically a part of the old elemental earth magic that caused the lessons to not bear fruits. The boy, as shy and uncertain as he still was, also seemed aware of Dumbledore’s manipulations, thus becoming even more likable in Rhian’s eyes.

Sadly, due to the fact that they were only alone on their way to Moody’s lessons, they had no chance to deepen their friendship further, which, he believed was another goal of the old coot.

“... I really hope my uncle will find one of them on his holiday trip. The ‘Mimbulus Mimbeltonia’ is so fascinating! Its fluids smell rather nasty, but it can be used in many Healing Potions…” Neville was excitedly telling him. They were on their way back to Dumbledore’s office after another exhausting and nerve-wrecking training session with Moody.

“You mean that grayish, smelly cactus?” Elijah piped in with a shudder as they stepped onto the spiraling staircase that let up to the Headmaster’s office.  
“It certainly won’t win the ‘Most Beautiful Pot Plant Award’, but Neville’s right. Its healing abilities are impressive,” Rhian commented, making the blonde sigh.

“I don’t know what’s with you and Neville and your love for boring things like plants and books. I’d rather spent my day on a broom, playing a game of Quidditch or ‘Catch the Snitch’.”

Rhian suppressed a roll of his eyes. Elijah truly could call himself lucky that Dumbledore didn’t make them sit in on written exams, or the boy would have a big problem. While most spells came quite easily to the strawberry blonde, he wasn’t the type to actually sit down and learn, so whenever they came across a spell he couldn’t do on the first to third try, he just hid behind him or Neville until they moved onto another subject.

“... Grandmother says my greenhouse is too full for another plant anyway...” Neville mumbled and Rhian frowned. He truly hated that Neville was so unsure of himself whenever someone said something negative about him or his passion for plants; he backtracked to meet the other’s expectation.

“... don’t say something like that, it’s your dream to have one of those, so when one of your plant’s die, just keep that space free, just in case your uncle Archie finds one after all,” he reassured his friend.

“You think I should do that?” the chubby boy asked with wide eyes.  
“Sure,” he shrugged. “It’s your passion. If someone would tell me there is this really rare book that can answer all your questions or something, but that I could only have it if I had a free space in my bookshelf, I certainly would make sure that there was some, just in case,” he grinned at his friend, who gave him a small, but honest smile in return, only to start a list of apologies afterwards:

“I know most people find Herbology boring… and it’s nothing you can easily share with friends…”  
“Stop it, Nev,” he quickly cut off. “I like plants as well, especially magical ones. The powers they hold…” he told his friend, remembering the time when he had been able to feel the magic in every living plant and being, before Dumbledore had bound his powers and he had lost most of his connections to the world surrounding him. It still hurt, but back then he hadn’t really realized how much he actually sensed, or that he would lose that particular gift by agreeing to the old manipulator. But he still held that passion and maybe that was the reason why he enjoyed Potions books the most of all subjects. To see how different kinds of plants and ingredients work together, just like a group of friends with different skills who combine their abilities to reach a goal…

A small sigh left his lips and he quickly shook his head. They had reached Dumbledore’s office door and he needed to clear his head or else the Headmaster would get suspicious about what was making him so happy.

Elijah knocked and they entered after Dumbledore had called them in. Once inside, they said their goodbyes, but before Rhian could even get close to the fireplace, Dumbledore addressed him: “Harry, would you please stay behind for a moment longer, my boy?”

Instantly, an uneasy feeling settled inside of him. It had been far too long since Dumbledore had sent him onto one of his little special training missions, and somehow he had the bad feeling that it was exactly what the old coot would want from him.

Neville threw him a worried look, but could do nothing more than wave at him and leave for his grandmother’s manor, while Elijah, of course, was totally oblivious about the shift in atmosphere in the office. The blonde waved happily at him, before floo’ing away, leaving him completely alone with the manipulative Headmaster.

“Please take a seat,” Dumbledore said and pointed at his usual chair. He sat down and waited for the old wizard to begin. However, the Headmaster was only examining him with a thoughtful expression. Rhian was about to asked if he could leave after all, when Dumbledore finally spoke:

“Harry, my boy, I fear I have to asked for your assistance in a delicate matter once more.”  
Sighing inwardly, he nodded complacently. Marvolo would be so annoyed if he got back even later because of another stupid mission. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just refuse.

“Do you remember when I explained to you why we have Dementors on the school grounds this year?”  
He nodded again, slowly getting an idea what mission exactly the Headmaster wanted to send him on, and for once, he started to look forward to his little exercise. He had been curious about the escapee ever since Arthur Weasley had mentioned him. His instincts were telling him that something was not adding up in that tale about Sirius Black’s betrayal of his ‘parents’ and he wanted to find out what it was.

“Yesterday evening, Sirius Black tried to break into one of the common rooms, and something is telling me that he is still on the grounds,” Dumbledore continued. “The Dementors have been unable to catch him so far and he is becoming more and more of a threat to the student body. We also have to consider that he will try to rejoin with his master at some point and that is something we cannot allow.”  
Again Rhian nodded, this time in faked passionate agreement.  
“Unlike many of Voldemort’s followers, Sirius Black was always an intelligent and talented wizard, the damage such a reunion could cause are unthinkable. I think he might even find a way to help his Master to finally return.”

Scowling, Rhian suppressed a scoff. He didn’t really believe that the Dark Lord’s return would be such a bad and horrible thing, but he could hardly tell the old coot that. So instead, he cut Dumbledore’s lengthy introduction short and asked: “Do you want me… to go after him?” He made sure to sound slightly nervous and hesitant; it wouldn’t do for the wizard to pick up on his eagerness.

“That indeed,” Dumbledore nodded with a grave expression he did not even buy for a second, “would be appreciated.”

“Do you know where I can find him, sir?” he asked, wanting to get out of the office and finally solve the riddle that was the night of his ‘parent’s’ death.

“When Mr. Black was a student, he and his friends often met in a secret hiding place under the grounds of Hogwarts. The entrance is hidden by the Whomping Willow, near the west border of the Great Lake. You should start your search there. I will also alert the Dementors; so that once you drive him out they can deal with him. I do not wish to burden your young heart with a murder just yet,” Dumbledore said in a sympathetic tone of voice.

However, Rhian knew exactly why the Headmaster would want the Dementors to take over; their ‘kiss’ was said to be more horrible than death, as they sucked out their victim’s soul and slowly devoured it. The progress had to be agonizing for the poor soul and a rebirth would become impossible for it. Dumbledore, he thought, truly had to hate the man, or was desperate to hide something; quite possibly both.

“Good luck, my boy,” the old fool finally dismissed him and he left the office. Once more the halls were empty. He had no real idea of how the Headmaster always managed to send him and the other boys somewhere without meeting a soul (with the exception of Malfoy that one time), but he supposed that the old fool had to know when the students were in class or at lunch and dinner.

He had never left the castle, but he had seen the front doors once, so he knew where he had to go. Swiftly and silently like a shadow, he made his way down and onto the grounds. It was not dark yet. With it being summer, the sun stood high in the sky for far too long, but she was slowly setting, lengthening his shadow on the grass.

Looking around, he searched the border of the lake in the distance for the willow the Headmaster had mentioned. It took him only a few seconds, as it was the only tree close by.

Sighing at the rather long walk he had to take after an already long and exhausting day, he started moving, all the time watching the tree. Whomping Willow the old fool had called the tree, and he knew enough about magic by now that he knew the name had to mean something. Probably that the plant was magical and quite vicious towards any attacker.

Suddenly, he saw a shadow move in the same direction from the corner of his eyes and stopped. However, as he looked more closely, he realized that it was not a shadow he had seen.

A rather huge, black dog was making its way towards the willow; however, something about the animal was off. Thanks to Dumbledore, his senses had been weakened considerably, but he could still sense some things when an object or person, or dog as in this case, was magically strong enough. His powers even seemed to have strengthened a little during the past couple of weeks, something, that made him hope that the old coot’s seals were weakening.

Suddenly the black dog jumped and Rhian winced as he realized how the Whomping Willow had earned its name. The tree suddenly lifted the branches up that were close to the animal, only to bring them back down with frightening force. However, the dog seemed to be prepared; he ducked and jumped, and suddenly, the willow froze.

In the next moment the dog disappeared between the roots, and suddenly he realized who the dog had to be; Marvolo had mentioned the skill of transforming into an animal only once, but the skill had sounded so intriguing to him, that he had remembered it. Fortunately, he thought.

So, he concluded, that this dog had to be Sirius Black. Deciding on a plan of action, he waited a few seconds longer, and then crossed the remaining distance to the tree. It didn’t take him long to find the tunnel that started between two particular thick roots. He pulled his wand out, hunched forwards and then stepped inside.

The tunnel was longer than expected and twisted a few times. Absentmindedly, he wondered, if this was the secret hideout Dumbledore had mentioned and if it would still be on the grounds or not. But then light spilled in through an opening, and he shoved the thought to the side, concentrating instead.

He sneaked closer to the door that stood ajar and peaked into the room behind it. He had been right with his assumption, the dog indeed was Sirius Black, because he was just transforming into his human form.

Making use of the man’s distraction and the fact that he was standing with his back towards him, Rhian pointed his wand at the escapee and shot a silent binding spell at him. Black, apparently totally surprised, fell forwards and crashed to the ground, making him wince. He hadn’t planned on hurting the man after all, he was there to talk, the bindings were just a precaution in case the wizard tended to shoot spells first and ask questions later; after all, being on the run from the Ministry and the Aurors had to be nerve wrecking.

Sighing, he walked over and crouched down, before rolling the man onto his back.  
“Sorry,” he muttered and met the escapee’s dark glare; however, it vanished as soon as Sirius Black recognized him.

“Pup!” the man exclaimed.  
Rhian frowned. Clearly, Sirius Black had lived in his dog form for far too long, or it was the madness caused by the Dementors speaking, after all, prolonged exposure to those creatures drove people insane.

“Listen,” he began before the wizard could say anything else.  
“Dumbledore has sent me to take you to the Dementors, but I would rather talk to you. In my opinion, a few things about your story are not adding up. However, the Headmaster is expecting me back soon, so I do not have a lot of time. Which means, you have the choice of answering my questions quickly or I call the Dementors after all,” he told Black, even though he was not planning on calling the guards back. He only hoped that the threat would make the man more cooperative.

Black, maybe surprised by his forwardness, nodded hastily, so he continued:  
“Dumbledore told me that you were my father’s best friend,” he began, careful to not sneer at the word ‘father’ “so, why have you betrayed him? Are you truly one of Voldemort’s men?”

The escapee flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name, just as Neville and Elijah tended to do, but he ignored it and waited for the wizard to answer, which he did after collecting himself.

“I didn’t betray them! I would never have done such a thing! But even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able. I wasn’t their Secret Keeper!”  
“Secret Keeper?” he asked, having actually not heard the term before.  
“Yes, Dumbledore proposed to put your parent’s house under the Fidelius Charm, so that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters would be unable to find them. James wanted me to be their Secret Keeper, but I…” he broke off, a look of torment passing through the man’s sky blue eyes. “I… talked him into taking Peter as his Secret Keeper. Everybody knew that he and I were best friends, brothers almost, so I thought it would be too obvious…”

So it was that Peter-guy then, Rhian thought, but kept silent as Black continued.

“When I realized what Peter must have done, I went after him, but he tricked me.”  
“Tricked you how?” he asked.  
Black’s eyes darkened:  
“He began shouting at me that I had killed Lily and James, before blowing up the road and vanishing down a drain.”  
Lifting his eyebrows, Rhian echoed: “Vanished down a drain?”  
The escapee nodded. “He is a rat. We all learned how to become animagi together to help Moony… um… Remus, I mean…”  
“Remus,” he once again repeated, feeling utterly stupid. Black was talking as if he was supposed to know all these people he had mentioned already, which probably would have been good, but he didn’t, thanks to the old fool.

“You don’t know Remy? … but with whom have you lived then? … with me, your godfather in prison and you parents dead…”  
“I live with my mother’s sister and her family,” he cut Black off, who paled instantly.  
“You were sent to Petunia? But you were never supposed to stay there. That woman, she hates…”  
“Yes,” Rhian hissed bitterly. “She hates magic and she hates me, but Dumbledore sent me there.”

Sirius Black frowned and to Harry’s annoyance and disbelief, he mumbled: “He probably didn’t know…”

Rhian scoffed. “Of course Dumbledore knew.” However, Black merely shook his head as if desperate to keep his worldview intact.

An odd feeling settled in his stomach, as if this one action had just set his alarm bells off. How could someone believe so strongly in the goodness of a person, even though he was confronted with proof of the opposite? The old Headmaster was a manipulative bastard and probably would not only use foul methods on him. By now Rhian knew enough about the magical world to have an idea how many spells, curses, rituals and potions existed to bring a person under your control.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He had planned to just show himself to his godfather, talk to him a little and then tell him to hide from not only the Ministry, but also Dumbledore, but clearly that wouldn’t work.

No, if he wanted to save Sirius Black, he would have to manipulate Dumbledore, but was his godfather worth the hassle? His frown deepened. Intuitively, he would say no, but then again, Black might be the key to understand what had happened on the night Dumbledore had attacked his parents, whoever they truly were, therefore it would be stupid to just leave him to his fate.

However, before he could make up his mind, his godfather spoke again:  
“Look, if you can help me get to Albus, and put in a good word for me, I am sure he will listen to my story. He will believe me!” Black said wholeheartedly.

Rhian wanted to scoff, but suppressed the urge and nodded slowly. He couldn’t hide the man from Dumbledore, and Sirius Black would not be able to hide for forever either; the old coot was far too powerful and intelligent for that, but if he could play the innocent child who had finally found a lost relative (so to speak), the man might have a chance.

“Then turn back into your dog form,” he ordered and turned to the door, not looking if his godfather was following him or not.

Soon the dog caught up to him and they made their way back to the castle. The hallways were empty as it was getting late by now and thus, they had an undisturbed trip up to the gargoyle.

Saying the password, Rhian stepped onto the staircase and made his way up. Once on the landing he knocked, but didn’t wait until he was bid to enter. As soon as he stepped in, he saw Dumbledore’s eyes flash over to Sirius and something like annoyance flashed through those overly sparkling eyes. Apparently his intuition was correct and the Headmaster had something to do with Black’s imprisonment; however, he didn’t show any sign that he had seen the reaction and instead put on a happy childish smile. 

Knowing that it would not be an easy matter to convince Dumbledore to keep Sirius safe, he ran up to the massive desk in a show of childish excitement.  
“Professor, I didn’t know I have a godfather! He isn’t a Death Eater at all, he says that there is a potion that can confirm his innocence and that he would take it!”

Surprise flashed through Dumbledore's eyes for a split second, but Rhian pretended he hadn’t seen it, or rather, thought that the surprise derived from the ‘joyous’ news and not the fact that the old fool’s plan had totally backfired this time.

However, Dumbledore wouldn’t be called the most powerful and wisest wizards of their world if he wasn’t able to pull himself together quickly: “That is a relief, my boy. It always saddened me to think that your last family member was imprisoned in Azkaban for such a horrid crime. But don’t worry; I will make sure the matter will be cleared up as quickly as possible.”

To Rhian’s frustration, the Headmaster stood up and ushered him over to the fireplace.

“This will probably take the whole night long.”  
He held out the bowl of floo powder to him, and Rhian hoped that he hadn’t made a mistake by not telling his godfather to run and hide. But that would have made things complicated as well. Dumbledore would probably have blamed him and informed the Ministry and Dementors that the escapee had been seen on the grounds.  
Well, it was too late to change anything anyway. So he took some powder, threw it into the hearth and after one last look over at the haggard man, disappeared.

When he stumbled out on the other side, he was relieved to find that the Dursley’s had gone to bed already and that Malik had done all his chores. The elf had done that whenever Dumbledore kept him for too long, even though they were using the Time Turner.

Walking into his ‘cupboard’, he found Marvolo with a book draped over their sofa. The familiar sight instantly made him relax and he let out a long breath. However, suddenly the image in front of him blurred and instead of lying on their rather modern black leather couch, the man was sitting in an old and imposing looking wingback armchair, a heavy tomb in his lap. Marvolo lifted his gaze and Rhian gasped as he saw how much younger the man looked, at least five years, maybe even more. Then the scene blurred again and his mentor was back and once more lying on their sofa.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he shook his head inwardly. He really had to be exhausted if he was starting to see things. He resolutely ignored the voice in his head that tried to remind him about the voice he had heard not so long ago, and instead woke up his mentor.

“You are late. What took you so long? Or should I rather ask what did the Headmaster make you do to keep you so long?”

“He sent me after Black,” he replied and watched as Marvolo closed his book and sat up.

“Oh yes, it’s around that time already,” the Diary mused.  
Not understanding, Rhian echoed: “What time?”  
“The end of the current term. He always sends you on some ‘mission’ around this time. It has already become a tradition,” the memory sneered and then asked: “Was your ‘godfather’ able to tell you anything interesting?”

Rhian shrugged. “It’s just as you guessed. He never was a follower of yours. In fact, he wasn’t even the Potter’s Secret Keeper, but a man named Peter Pettigrew was, and he apparently was a Death Eater, before feigning his own death and escaping.

He was adamant that Dumbledore would believe him and for now the old fool might actually help him, but certainly not out of the kindness of his heart; I had to put on quite the act to achieve that.”

“I can imagine,” Marvolo hummed, his face a thoughtful mask.

Going over, he climbed onto the sofa and cuddled into the Diary’s side. Once again he noticed that Marvolo seemed even icier than he had in the past and automatically sent some of his magical energy over, before asking:

Will you read me a story before I go to bed?”  
Chuckling, the memory stood, picked him up and carried him over to his bed.  
“Only after you have changed into your nightwear and lay down. You have fallen asleep on the couch often enough. Which story would you like to hear?”

“Can we continue ‘In the Edda’?” he asked and with a flick of his wand, summoned his pajamas.  
As he slipped beneath the covers, he relished in the routine of being tucked in. It seemed as if they had done so for far longer than the single year they had already lived together. But then again, humans tend to grow accustomed to nice things rather quickly and easily, he supposed.


	5. Face to Face

[ ](http://www.freeimagehosting.net/commercial-photography/)   
_(Rhian age 10)_

Rhian’s eyes widened and he quickly stepped sideways. He had been about to floo back to Privet Drive when the flames had turned green, announcing a floo arrival.

Dumbledore had told Neville, Elijah and him about the Tri-Wizarding Tournament which England, France and Germany were trying to reinstall. Apparently their efforts were baring fruits, because Hogwarts at least was already having a Pre-Tournament with the ridiculous title of “Founder’s Tournament” and the strongest member from each House were taking part in it.

Today a delegation of the German and French as well as the English school and Ministry representatives were supposed to arrive and he was not supposed to meet them. However, whoever was floo’ing in right now was about a quarter of an hour early.

Flattening his fringe over his scar, he watched as the flames in the hearth flared and two blondes stepped out, one of them, faintly familiar.

Draco Malfoy had not changed much. He had grown quite a bit and his features were starting to mature; he had definitely entered puberty since he had last seen the boy.

The blonde eyed him speculatively, and Rhian wondered what was on his mind, but as soon as the Headmaster turned to greet his guests, his face became a guarded blank mask.

Quickly, he finally stepped into the floo and threw the powder in; he had enough problems on right now to not wish for more complications to be added in the form of Draco Malfoy.

The best thing during the past months had been his brief conversations with Neville and his frequent correspondence with his godfather. Sirius was hiding in his old family home, which seemed to make him slightly moody and depressed. His godfather sent him a letter each week, telling about his boring life in hiding and asking all kinds of questions. This way they had gotten to know each other quite well. The escapee had a wicked sense of humor and a mind that was stuck somewhere between a teen and an adult, as well as a light and a dark wizard. He told Rhian about James and his days at Hogwarts, and the few years after graduation they had shared before the Potters were killed and he imprisoned. By now Rhian could even see him as a godfather and liked him more than he had expected after their first meeting.

The worst, by far, had been Ginevra Weasley. Not only did she regularly talk her parents into inviting him on his weekends, but also had picked up the irritating habit of floo’ing over to Dumbledore’s office whenever her parents weren’t looking, to give him a ‘surprise visit’.

Even Neville seemed annoyed by her periodic interruption and once Rhian had even heard him mutter something about a plant that was supposed to help with overt sexual tension.

The comment had made his day back then, but generally the girl could be glad that Marvolo continued to remind him that simply killing her off would not be advantageous to their long-term plans.

However, around the time of last summer, he had developed a strange hunger that could barely be quenched with food, and never for long. Marvolo was also not faring as well as he had always done. Something was straining the Diary; its artificial body had grown even colder and was beginning to fade, and he spent more and more time between the pages of his notebook with every passing day.

For the first time since he had brought Marvolo to Privet Drive did he experience loneliness again and it brought home how much he had gotten use to the company. It also brought back the craving for a parent; however, he knew that that dream would always remain wishful thinking.

As nice as his delusion of having a surrogate father had been and for as long as it had lasted, in the end, Marvolo was not real. The realization had hurt more than anything he had experienced so far. Even worse than realizing that even the people he had been made to believe were his family, were in truth not related to him.

But it had been his own fault. He had been stupidly weak and childish, and as much as something inside of him craved to just be a child, he knew he could not allow these feelings to continue.

And then there was the newest task Dumbledore had given him earlier.

Stepping out into his “relatives’” living room, he sighed in relief as he realized that they were not at home, so he made his way into his “cupboard” without any delay.  
As usual these days, he was greeted by an empty room, the only sign that he was not completely alone the black notebook lying innocently on the coffee table.

As soon as he sat down in front of it, plates and bowls filled with vegetables and meats appeared. He was eating more and more these days, unfortunately, it did not help against his gnawing hunger. However, he ignored the dinner for now and picked up the Diary. Opening it, he sent a pulse of his magic inside, calling Marvolo. But in contrast to what he had expected, his mentor did not rise from the pages, merely his face, like a half-relief, appeared.

“What is the old coot planning now?” Marvolo asked as soon as he saw his face. Rhian blushed; sometimes he felt as if he should be more proficient with hiding his emotions, like all true Slytherins did, but then again, he had the suspicion that it was not a lack of skill but Marvolo’s sharp eyes that were the problem.

“Tomorrow I am supposed to guard the House Cup of Hogwarts at the final event of the Pre-Tournament,” he sneered in explanation. “He expects your other-self to make a move. Apparently he has been more active lately and there are indications that he is planning something big.”

After his explanation, Marvolo was silent for a long time; so long in fact, that Rhian got an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It was not the first time he experienced it; in fact, he believed that the Diary wanted to tell him something for some time now, but apparently the time had finally come.

However, as the memory finally spoke, it was totally unexpected:  
“I want you to take me along tomorrow, and if the chance arises, give me back to my Master.”  
“No! I still need your help!” He exclaimed in sudden fright.  
Marvolo opened his mouth again, but before he could speak even a single word, he quickly continued: “He has abandoned you, he doesn’t want you and he doesn’t need you! He has all those servants, but I have nobody! Who will teach me if you are gone? I still have so much to learn and…”

Marvolo suddenly cut him off, his voice harsher than he had ever heard it:  
“Enough, Rhian! What I am planning is for the best for both of us; me, but even more so for you!”

Looking down like a scolded child (which he really was), he didn’t dare to say more. However, that did not make the angry and desperate tears vanish from his eyes or stopped his balled fists from shaking.

“You must have realized that I am growing weaker. Soon I will not be able to leave my notebook or communicate with you at all. I will not be able to help and protect you any longer and Dumbledore will step up his game if he truly fears my Master’s return. It is not me you need, and it is not me you should be working with; if fact, I have never been this person.

Currently my Master believes that you are his enemy, if you and I want to survive, we have to convince him of the opposite. Tomorrow will maybe be our last chance, especially if you want me to help you convince him.”

Rhian balled his fists tighter. What Marvolo was saying was reasonable, but he still had a bad feeling. It seemed like an awful high risk to take. What if Lord Voldemort took the Diary, but did not give either of them the chance to explain themselves? Then he would have to flee back to the Dursley’s and he would be stuck there alone again.

Once again Marvolo seemed to read his thoughts: “If at all possible, you will have to return to… your current living arrangements. The longer the old fool thinks he has everything under control, the better, however, Malik will still support you and I will do my best to convince my Master of your true loyalties as quickly as possible.”

“Is there no way to return your power?” He asked in a last attempt to change his mentor’s mind, even though he knew his chance was slim.

“No,” was Marvolo’s simple answer.  
“Why?”  
“I have a theory as to what the problem is, however, if I am correct, which I usually am, the reason for my weakened state lays in your maturing magic and only my real ‘self’ will be able to help you.”  
“How? Why?” he asked again, not understanding anything. It was a feeling that had grown rather unfamiliar over the last two years and he disliked it.  
“That HE will have to tell you when the time has come,” was the Diary’s evasive answer.

Realizing that there was no use in questioning the Diary further, he let his head hang and finally nodded.  
“Fine,” he said, his voice conveying that he was anything but.

“You will not have to endure the Dursley’s for long,” Marvolo promised, before vanishing back between the pages.

He sat in front of his still untouched dinner for a while longer, before finally shrinking and pocketing the Diary and starting to eat. He did not really feel like eating, but he had been starved for too long to not take advantage of a warm meal; besides, he would need his strength tomorrow.

After having eaten even the contents of the last bowl, he changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed. For once, he did not turn back the time, as there would be no lesson or shared story time today. Marvolo clearly was too weak by now. The thought that he could be the reason for his mentor’s bad state, made him shiver and he quickly forced his eyes closed, longing for sleep to pull him into blissful nothingness.

The next morning Rhian slept in as the tournament didn’t start until late afternoon and the Dursley’s thought he had already gone to his “school of freaks”. He got a nasty look from Petunia as she realized he had been there the whole time and could have done some chores, but he just ignored it.

Dumbledore awaited him, already clad in a garish purple and green robe; another black one hung over his arm.

“There you are, my boy. Punctual as ever,” the old wizard smiled and handed him the robe. “I took the liberty of having this robe custom made for you. After all, this will be your first public appearance.”

His eyes widened in shock and plans on how to get away with short notice rushed through his mind. He could apparate, at least theoretically, and was confident that he would manage it with his first or second try, however, the school wards were very strong and old, and while he was confident in his own skills, he was not so sure about being able to break through them. But he definitely did not plan on letting himself be made into a puppet for the public as well.

Another thought entered his mind, namely, that Marvolo had been right about him needing more powerful help soon. He wondered if the Diary’s intuition was just extraordinary, or if the memory just knew the old coot that well; however, Dumbledore interrupted his train of thought before he could ponder it further.

“Don’t worry Harry, only the champion that reaches the cup will see you. However, his tale about meeting you and if need arises, the story of you fending off the forces of evil, will reassure our people.”

He wanted to snort. Those ‘Light’ idiots and stupid sheep were not his people, the old fool would learn that soon enough, but now was not yet the right time. Instead, he obediently grabbed the robe and wandered over to a corner of the office to have at least a modicum of privacy.

Fortunately he was standing with his back towards the Headmaster, otherwise, the man would have seen his perfect mask slip as he unfolded the robe and saw the ridiculous design.

There was the Hogwarts Crest stitched in golden yellow, ruby red, emerald green and royal blue, stitched on the front and back surrounded by the words “HARRY POTTER - DEFENSOR LUMINIS” in bold letters.

Having no other choice, he changed quickly and then walked back over to the scheming old fool and was let down the spiral staircase and out into the passageway. It didn’t take long for him to realize where Dumbledore was leading them. The Quidditch Pitch in the distance was now occupied by what seemed to be a gigantic labyrinth, and sure enough, the Headmaster started explaining:

“While the first rounds of this tournament have consisted of duels, this time our champions have to show their talents in a wider variety, as the Tri-wizarding Tournament is known to require a great number of skills. Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory, Blaise Zabini and Charlie Weasley will have to make their way through this maze and resolve many tasks to get to the House Cup which you will guard in the very center. His or her reward will be to represent our school in the Tri-Wizard Tournament as well as meeting you, the ‘Hero of the Light Side’, of course.”

Rhian rolled his eyes but merely nodded, wondering if they would have to go through the entire maze as well. However, just then Dumbledore lifted his wand and a gate appeared in the hedge that apparently led straight to the centre.

“So, where is the cup, sir?” he asked as Dumbledore stopped in a small, round clearing.  
“Hold out your hands, my boy,” the Headmaster ordered and drew out his wand. He performed a series of complicated, swirling patterns and suddenly a golden cup appeared hovering in front of Rhian.

“No need to be shy, just take it,” the Headmaster hummed with a happy smile and twinkle in his eyes, before continuing: “I have to go now; the Final Task will start in about ten minutes. When a champion arrives, your task will be to hand him or her the cup. I would also appreciate it if you say some encouraging words. The students currently taught at our school are the ‘Light’s’ future after all; they will be your most important allies in the war to come.”

“I will do so, Professor,” Rhian smiled falsely and watched as the overly colorful figure disappeared back down the path they had come from. After a minute or so, the hedge closed, indicating that the old deceiver had left the maze.

Sighing, he scowled down on the trophy and then flopped down onto the grass. Who knew how long he would have to wait for one of the champions to show up? Maybe he would be lucky and all of them would be eaten by some giant beast, but then again, Charlie was amongst them and he was the second oldest Weasley son.

Thinking about the champions, Blaize Zabini was a Slytherin, as far as he knew, at least the Zabini’s came from an old line of ‘Dark’ Purebloods who had mostly gone to Slytherin, not that there weren’t ‘Dark Wizards’ in other houses as well. Snorting, Rhian shook his head. It was ridiculous how the Headmaster twisted the truth to try and make him believe the ‘Dark side’ was the minority. Definitely all of his students were not the ‘Light’s’ future.

He suddenly heard cheering in the distance, the Pre-Tournament must have finally started; however, it did not take long until the happy and anticipating noise was replaced by bored silence. Rhian could only imagine how interesting it had to be for a castle full of kids and teenagers to watch a gigantic hedge maze for an unknown amount of time and smirked, before lying down on his back, crossing his arms behind his back and closing his eyes to relax.

He couldn’t have said how much time had passed as he finally heard footsteps running towards him. Swiftly and smoothly he rose to his feet, picked up the House Cup again and plastered a gryfindorish smile onto his lips; after all, that was what people would expect to see and for now he needed to play his role a while longer.

Something however, did not sound quite right about the sound. It seemed too muddled too… his eyes widened as suddenly two tall boys appeared from around a corner, running at full speed and neither of them seemed about to slow down any. One of them was Charlie Weasley, the other, a blonde one that reminded him of those ridiculous Princes of muggle fairy tales.

They clearly were good sports, not shoving or kicking each other in their attempt to reach the cup first, but that would really not matter much as soon as they collided with him; and collide they would.

Rhian fought the urge to close his eyes and lift at least one arm protectively in front of his face, and in the next moment the two had reached him. They grabbed the trophy simultaneously and in the next moment he was whisked away by a hook behind his naval.

“A Portkey” his mind provided sharply, and for a short moment he wondered if it was a good thing or not that he was taken somewhere where at least Dumbledore could not overhear his planned conversation with the Dark Lord. However, that also meant that he was totally on his own.

Coming out of his stupor, he realized whatever it would be, he needed to somehow make sure that neither that blonde Prince Charming, nor Charlie could tell on him, so he concentrated his magic and shot a stunner at the redhead.

Unfortunately, before he could deal with the other boy, they were dropped quite roughly onto a muddy ground.

“What a nice surprise,” a cold, smooth voice spoke out of nowhere. Rhian was reminded of his first meeting with Marvolo, where the memory had hidden in the shadows as well, just as Lord Voldemort was doing right now. They clearly were the same person.  
“We planned to send the old fool a message and now we can send him three. Lucius, kill the two remaining boys.”

Before he could react, a whispering could be heard in the darkness and a green light shot towards him. Not hesitating a moment, he quickly ducked, leaving the blonde boy in the line of the killing curse. Even as the body fell, he jumped back onto his feet and called:

“Stop, My Lord!”

Silence descended over the dark meadow, if shocked or calculating he couldn’t say. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was that this was his chance. Placing his right hand over his heart, he moved into a traditional bow. If Lord Voldemort was at least half the Dark Lord he made himself out to be, he would recognize the gesture.

Respectful, but not groveling, like one Pureblood Heir greeting another of equal standing in the old days.

“How intriguing. The ‘Light Hero’ knowing and greeting the ‘Dark Lord’ with a traditional bow,” The voice sneered; it was even colder than Marvolo’s had been.  
“Say Lucius, shall we kill him for his impudence or grant him the chance to speak?”

Rhian didn’t move and stayed in his bowed position. He knew he had been very audacious with his move already and shouldn’t strain his luck any further. The moment of silence that followed once more was torture, but then slow steps could be heard and he could only hope that it meant that Lord Voldemort was giving him a chance.

“What is it that the great Harry Potter wishes to tell me, the Dark Lord?” Voldemort finally asked, and Rhian took that as a sign that he was allowed to straighten once again. However, what his eyes fell on shocked him into speechlessness for a moment. There, across from him, stood not a man resembling the memory in the Diary, nor was there a creature that looked like the monster Dumbledore had described to him. Instead Lucius Malfoy stood there with a small, reddish, baby-like homunculus in his arms.

“It is shocking what the ‘Light Side’ has reduced me to young Potter, but do better than to delude yourself into thinking that I am powerless,” Voldemort hissed. “And before this night is to end, I will be even stronger, restored to my old power once again by the blood of an enemy forcefully taken. Now speak, before I lose my patience.”

His mind was racing a hundred miles a second, trying to deduce if he could use the sparse information the Dark Lord had just given him to further his advantage. He knew he had read something about rituals and the power of different types of harvested human blood, but right now he couldn’t remember what exactly the text had said. However, he knew that he could not take any more time, so he started speaking, hoping that prolonging his situation enough would help:

“I have come bearing a gift for you, Lord Voldemort,” he began, smoothly pulling the shrunken Diary out from his inner robe pocket, along with his wand, before tapping it and enlarging it again.

“What am I supposed to do with an old journal?” was Voldemort’s mocking retort, obviously not realizing what kind of notebook he was holding, and as if by unspoken command, Lucius Malfoy lifted his wand once more.

Rhian tried to stay calm and not let himself become nervous.  
“It is yours, is it not? And a lot of your magic has been seeped into this Diary.”  
The word Diary seemed to catch the Dark Lord’s attention and with a beckoning motion of his hand, Rhian could feel magic pulling on the journal. He let it go and watched how it floated over to the powerful wizard. It truly was amazing what the Dark Lord could do, even in that weakened state. Even with the distance between them, his skin was tingling and an unknown thrill went through his body.

“Where did you find this?” the Dark Lord asked and his voice was so smooth that Rhian instinctively stiffened.  
“I found it in Hogwarts, in the Chamber of Secrets, to be exact,” he answered regardless.  
“And how would my Diary have found its way to Hogwarts?” Voldemort asked in return, clearly not believing him, but to Rhian’s surprise Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat.  
“My Lord, forgive me, but I fear that would be my doing.”

The homunculus’ eyes snapped up to his right-hand man, eyeing him sharply.  
“Explain.”  
“After your… disappearance,” Lucius started with a polite cough, making it unmistakably clear which disappearance he meant “I went to Serpent’s Court and found what I now know to be your Diary. I became curious because of the amount of your power it held and hoped that you may have left it behind as a way to return you to this plain if something should ever happen to you. We all knew after all that you had taken precautions for such an event.”

“So Lucius, you took one of my personal possession and dropped it at Hogwarts, the place where my strongest enemy resides?” the Dark Lord’s voice was low and dangerous.

Lucius Malfoy visibly gulped. “Yes… no… not exactly, my Lord.” He cleared his throat again. “I was surprised by its empty pages and just to see what would happen, wrote in it. It answered and told me to take it to Hogwarts. So the next opportunity I had, I dropped it into a cauldron of one of those red-haired blood traitor twins. As far as I know, their little sister took it and shortly after strange things started to happen at Hogwarts. Mudblood students were petrified and then the girl somehow ended up in the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore however, sent Potter after her and she returned safely. I have not heard about the Diary since.”

Another long moment of silence followed, in which Lord Voldemort seemed to contemplate something, but Rhian could not start at guessing what was occupying his mind. However, suddenly the Dark Lord snapped out of whatever trance he had been in and his blood red eyes narrowed in on him.

“Tell me, boy, why would Harry Potter give me my Diary back? Especially after it had been responsible of petrifying children?”

Rhian straightened, the effort to not snarl at the word “boy” straining his whole body.  
“Things are not always as they seem, Lord Voldemort. But I am sure you realized that many years ago.”

“True, true. But what am I supposed to do with this old Diary of mine? Will it help me to regain my old power and win this war?” Voldemort asked mockingly, and suddenly the epiphany hit him. Regaining his power, restoring it with the blood of an enemy forcefully taken. Quickly, before the Dark Lord could grow impatient and his chance vanishes he spoke again:

“No, this Diary will not be able to restore your Powers. I merely thought it polite to return to you such a personal item. However, my blood, willingly given, could help you reach your goal far better than the blood of an enemy forcefully taken.”

With satisfaction he saw that he had caught Lord Voldemort’s attention. The homunculus had stilled in the arms of his right-hand man, his narrowed, gleaming red eyes fixed on him. Even the proud Malfoy patriarch had gone still. Finally, Voldemort spoke:

“Blood willingly given indeed holds more power that that forcefully taken.”  
“And I am willing to offer you mine,” he said clearly, with a bow of his head.  
“It seems I may have judged you incorrectly. Or maybe not, but for now I will accept your offer. If you agree to a few terms of precaution, of course.”

A test, Rhian knew, and one risky for him most likely. However, as he had no intention of betraying the Dark Lord’s trust, he didn’t bat an eye and merely asked: “What precautions would you like me to agree to?”

“Hand your wand over. I of course promise you that it will come to no harm and you will get it back after you have fulfilled your promise.”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded and walked over, pulling his wand out along the way. However, as soon as it touched the Dark Lord’s small palm, the wizard hissed like an angry snake:

“Are you trying to fool me, Potter?”  
His eyes widened and he took a step back; he had no idea how he could have offended the Dark Lord.  
“Trying to trick me with a piece of wood!” the wizard snarled, before snapping his wand in two. To his horror it transformed back to the branch it had once been. Only now it looked dry and dead.

“This is the wand Dumbledore gave me, I swear on my magic!” he exclaimed in panic. Voldemort’s non-existent eyebrows shot up: “Do the spell and I may spare you!”  
“How, without a wand?” He asked, knowing that performing the spell would be his only chance to come out of this encounter alive.  
Voldemort sneered. “This piece of wood has never been a wand. If you did not lie, then Dumbledore has raised you to wield your magic wandlessly and you should have no problem,” the Dark Lord smirked evilly.

“I,” he began, lifting his wand hand up. However, he faltered, unsure of what name he should use, but while he felt that Rhian was the name he truly was supposed to have, it was not his official name, so he continued: “...Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic that I have only spoken the truth about the origin of my wand and not betrayed the Dark Lord Voldemort in word or action.”

His magic rose from inside of him, strong and potent. For a moment it swirled around him, before vanishing again.

“It seems you have spoken the truth,” Voldemort said, and Rhian could see the wheels turning in the wizard's mind. But then he snapped out of whatever contemplation he had been in, snapped his spidery fingers and a silver, emerald encrusted bowl with a matching dagger appeared in front of him, hovering in mid-air. The Dark Lord motioned for him to come closer and then ordered: “Seven drops.”

His hand was shaking slightly as he grabbed the sharp weapon, but not because of fear, no it was excitement coursing through his veins that made him restless. He barely felt the pain as the blade pierced his skin and his blood began to drip down into the bowl. When seven drops had dripped in, he pulled his finger away and healed it with a gesture of his hand, not bothering with the correct wand movement anymore now that he knew he had never needed them anyway.

However, why Dumbledore would train him to do magic wandlessly only to keep it a secret, he could not fathom. But thinking of Dumbledore, he realized that his time was running out.  
“I am afraid I cannot stay for the big event. Dumbledore will grow suspicious if I do not return soon, and right now I am not in a position to oppose him openly.”

Surprise quickly flickered over the Dark Lords features, but it was gone in an instant.  
“Very well,” Voldemort said and with another snap of his fingers repaired the broken branch and returned it to its former transfigured state. “Be assured that Lord Voldemort will not forget your assistance, young Potter. The House Cup will take you back to Hogwarts.”

Nodding, he walked over to the cup and summoned Cedric’s dead and Charlie’s unconscious bodies, before sending some of his magic into the trophy, reactivating it.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

“I want you to collect everything you can find out about Harry Potter and bring it to me,” Voldemort ordered his right-hand man as soon as the small figure had vanished.  
“Yes, My Lord,” the blonde responded obediently.

He could not quite pinpoint it, but something was not right with that boy. He clearly was not a supporter of Dumbledore regardless of what the old man believed, and tried to make the public believe. However, that could not be all. No real Potter would ever support him, after all, the last couple of generations had always stayed carefully Neutral.

Well, he would get to the bottom of the mystery soon, after all the boy had the potential of becoming one of his strongest followers.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

The trip back seemed shorter than the one to the meadow had been, leaving him without any time to construct a plan in his head, however, he would not need anything complicated.

As his body hit the former Quidditch Pitch, he smirked to himself, thinking “let the show begin,” and then started shouting:  
“Professor Dumbledore! Help! Please, over here!”

Footsteps could be heard and in the next moment he was surrounded by a crowd of people. Flashlights were going off at the same time as people started screaming.  
“My boy! That’s my boy!” the voice of a man shouted followed by the distressed cry of a woman. A woman and man fell down next to him, cradling the body of the dead blonde to their chests; they had to be his parents.

Wanting to get away and thinking that it was time for some more hero action, he pushed himself up, grabbed Charlie under his arms and shouted “Out of my way! He needs help, he is still alive!” 

He heard a high pitched scream and a moment later Mrs. Weasley’s voice reached his ears, making him wince: “Charlie! It’s my Charlie!”  
“Let me through!” Dumbledore’s voice boomed next and he actually rolled his eyes then. Had he not just said that Charlie was still alive? Making such a fuss about one of his precious Weasley’s, but not reacting at the death of another student; that was just so typical for the Headmaster.

The two adults appeared, shoving people violently out of the way and sparing the Diggory’s no sideways glance. Charlie’s body was lifted into the air and with a “Come along, my boy!” Dumbledore started marching towards the castle.

Obediently he followed the silent wizard and still whaling witch. At some point they were joined by more redheads; the twins, Ronald and Ginny to be exact.

“He will…”  
“...pull through…”  
“...won’t he?” Fred and George asked silently, worry evident in their voices.  
“Yes, no worries. He is only stunned,” he told them and they sighed in relief.  
“I am so glad we have you!” Ginny said and attached herself to his arm. “First me, now Charlie, you truly are our savior.”  
“I only do what is expected of me,” he told her truthfully and mentally added “at least for now.” Of course, he would probably always follow certain orders, but soon they would not come from Dumbledore anymore.  
“Don’t say something like that! You could never let someone just die,” Ginny argued back, however, they fortunately had finally reached the hospital wing and Dumbledore motioned for them to be quiet.

As soon as they entered, Madam Pomfrey was at their side.  
“Oh I knew something would happen. This last task was just too…”  
“It was Voldemort,” Dumbledore cut her off, making everybody flinch with the exception of Rhian. “He kidnapped Harry, Charlie and Cedric.”  
“Oh my!” the mediwitch exclaimed while levitating Charlie onto the closest bed. “Is Mr. Diggory well?”  
Dumbledore shook his head, false regret in his eyes. “I am afraid he died in the attack.”

Madame Pomfrey paled, but a groan from Charlie, who was about to regain consciousness, reminded her of her patient and she finally set to work.

Rhian watched the proceedings silently. There was not much the mediwitch needed to do as the redhead had not been cursed or injured in any way. However, whenever he wanted to sneak off to a more secluded corner, Ginny tightened her hold on his arm while all the time the other Weasley’s were throwing him curious looks which he did not plan on answering.

Fortunately it did not take long to check Charlie over, and as soon as Madam Pomfrey announced that he was unharmed, the family finally went to surround him while Dumbledore waved him over. Not that he felt enthusiastic about speaking to the old bastard, but he probably would be allowed to leave after he had told his story. Or fairytale, in this instance.

“Harry my boy, what happened?” the old wizard asked with an eager gleam badly hidden in his twinkling blue eyes. Well, he would be in for a disappointment.

“I am not sure, sir,” he began and lowered his eyes in apparent shame.  
“You are not sure? Was Voldemort not there?” Dumbledore instantly prodded.  
“No… he wasn’t there. Only some cloaked people with white masks. It didn’t seem like they were there on his orders.”  
The Headmaster’s face fell and the twinkle died in his eyes; he wanted to grin.

“But he must have been there. I am quite sure that he was the one planning the attack,” the old wizard repeated, more firmly and with a strong wave of magic accompanying his words. But he wouldn’t confirm anything.  
“No, he wasn’t there. I mean… I have fought him before. I know what his magic feels like… I would have noticed him.”

Dumbledore’s brows furrowed, he was clearly not satisfied with the report. The old manipulator had probably already planned a scandalous interview with one of the wizarding papers where he would have announced to the world that Lord Voldemort was back and he, Rhian, should have confirmed it.

“Very well. Go home for now. Maybe you will remember more details tomorrow. I am sure you are in shock right now and certain details have slipped your mind,” the Headmaster said and Rhian sighed mentally in relief at the dismissal.

Without another glance at the Weasley’s, he walked over to the fireplace of the Infirmary, grabbed a handful of the floo powder that was kept in a kidney-dish and threw it into the hearth. Only a few seconds later he was back at Privet Drive.

The house was already dark and silent as it was quite late by now. A cold shiver ran down his spine; he hated the place, it felt so lonely and loveless. However, in contrast to the past few years, the feeling didn’t vanish as he entered his cupboard.

Marvolo was not awaiting him any longer, there was no person lounging on the couch, reading an old, dusty tomb, greeting him with a sneered remark about the “old coot” and ready to keep him company during dinner.

Instead he sat down in front of the set coffee table in total silence. The meal looked just as delicious as it had always done, but to him it tasted like ash and it was even less filling than it had already been lately. Hopefully Voldemort would contact him soon and offer him a place by his side in some way. Even a place with some of his followers he would accept; as long as he did not have to stay at the Dursley’s’ for much longer. He was not sure how long he would be able to bear this loneliness.

The memories from his early childhood came rushing back quicker than he had expected and as he laid down, he felt as if the years in between had never happened. In the end, a voice in his mind whispered that Marvolo had just been an illusion, a magical artifact. He had not gained a parent; the fact that it had been so easy for the Diary to leave him was the proof.

And thus, for the first time in years his old childhood nightmares came back, leaving him exhausted despite having enough hours of sleeps thanks to his Time Turner.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

Lucius sighed in defeat and leaned back in his chair. It was late at night and he was still sitting in his private office at Malfoy Manor, reading through old files in the hopes of finding some information on one Harry James Potter.

However, what should have been an easy task, especially for someone like him who knew the Ministry as well as his robe pocket and was quite efficient in research, turned out to be an impossible task.

Someone had made sure that no one would be able to find any personal information on the boy and he had a feeling as to whom it had been. The old coot must have ‘retrieved’ it at some point, probably to ‘protect’ his ‘hero’.

Once again his mind drifted to the events that had happened almost half a year ago. To think that the onetime his Lord was not searching out the boy, he would come to him and offer his assistance…

The boy was an utter enigma; a Slytherin through and through, despite being a Potter. And the magic he had emitted during his oath had been anything but ‘Light’. It had been dark. But not only that, it had felt familiar in a sense it should not have, after all, he had never met the boy before.

His musing was interrupted by a soft knock.  
“Come in,” he called out, assuming that it was his wife, demanding to know why he was not joining her in their bed for the fifth night in a row. However, their Lord was getting impatient with the lack of progress; therefore he had opted to put in night shifts.

Additionally, the Dark Lord had started with his ‘search’ again. What exactly he was searching for, he however did not know, just as he had not known the last time it had occurred, shortly before the strong wizard’s fall. But one thing he was certain about and that was that this search would soon darken his Lord’s mood and shorten his patience even further.

However, to his surprise it was not Narcissa, but Draco who entered silently. His son had been over at Krum Manor for a BBQ with his Durmstrang friends and must have just returned.

“I saw the light when I walked by,” he said in way of explanation and sat down in the additional chair he kept for visitors in his office.

Turning around, Lucius examined his son, waiting for him to tell him why exactly he had decided to visit him so late in the night. It was not totally uncommon that he was working this late; however, he knew Draco would soon start telling him when he felt comfortable enough.

However, for now it seemed that his son wanted to get his mind away from the topic he had come to discuss, because he said:  
“You seem stressed, father. Has something happened at the Ministry?”

“Not quite. It is a task given to me by our Lord that is keeping me busy,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
“What kind of task?”  
“You know I am not allowed to speak about my missions, Draco,” he told his son, but then sighed and added: “I am supposed to find information about Harry Potter, but Dumbledore has made sure that nothing worth mentioning was left at the Ministry,” thinking that a vague summary could do no harm in this matter.

Noticing that his son had been silent for too long, he lifted his gaze from where it had rested on one of the nearly empty fields and saw Draco looking out of the window with conflict written in his eyes.

Getting a strange feeling, he sat up straighter and asked: “What is it Draco? DO you know anything that could be of importance?”

His son hesitated for another second, before he inquired: “Do you remember when I was little and felt Rhian’s soul being reborn?”  
Lucius froze, a foreboding feeling grabbing him. “You mean, back when your cousin fell pregnant, even though he never possessed the carrier gene?”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed and then, after a few more agonizing second whispered ”Harry Potter feels the same.”

Within seconds, Lucius was on his feet, pacing up and down in front of the big window of his study. “Of course…” he mumbled to himself. “It would make sense, more than the story that James would have left his husband for this muggle-wench…” spinning around, he faced Draco.”Thank you, son, I believe you have just provided our Lord with the answer he had been looking for. Please tell your mother that I left for Serpent’s Court if I am not back by breakfast.”

And with that, he left his office, intent on going to his Lord for a meeting that was long overdue.


	6. Beginning of the End

[ ](http://www.freeimagehosting.net/commercial-photography/)   
_(Rhian age 10… continued)_

Rhian dragged his hurting body into his room and let himself fall onto the bed. The Dursley’s couldn’t possibly know, but somehow it seemed as if they had sensed that he was once again without a protector, because their abuse had grown worse again. Maybe they had been able to feel the Dark magic emitting from the Diary, at least on an unconscious level, and that had somewhat reigned them in these past few years.

But now his life was once again an unbearable hell. His nightmares had increased again as well, and were more vicious than ever. He dreamed about his uncle beating him to death and his aunt stabbing him until he bled out on her precious carpet while all the while she was screeching that he was soiling her floors and giving her even more work to do.

Only the thought of Voldemort hopefully searching him out soon kept him going, however, his meeting with the Dark Lord had already been some months ago, and slowly his conviction was dwindling. He knew he was close to falling into a depression. He had even stopped using the Time Turner daily, which robbed him of many hours of sleep and some regular meals on occasions. But on some days, when his body especially hurt a lot, he couldn’t really help it. Dumbledore of course did not care about the broken bones he regularly sported or the bleeding belt-cuts on his back, and only pushed him about not ever letting anything show in front of Elijah and Neville.

However, while Elijah was blissfully ignorant, caught up in his sunny happy-go-lucky world, Neville was more sensitive, and while the boy clearly didn’t know what was happening to him, Rhian could see in his eyes that he knew something was wrong. Sometimes his friend was chewing on his bottom lip as if he wanted to say something, but so far one look from him had always been enough to keep the chubby child quiet.

He hoped that Neville realized that it wasn’t because he didn’t trust him, in fact, he found himself wanting to speak with him more often in the last few months than he cared to count, but the portraits always seemed to be listening lately and the castle herself was sentient and had to obey the Headmaster.

Dumbledore truly worried him these days, it was as if the old wizard had noticed something, or was afraid that his loyalties might waver, which of course did not exist in the first place, but the fact was that he had been given a new task.

Instead of training with the other two boys, he had been sent away to guard some mysterious prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. His guarding duties started mostly in the late afternoon after most Ministry workers had left for their homes and continued through the entire night until around 9 in the morning when they came back.

It successfully separated him from his only social contacts, making him feel even more secluded and lonely than he already was. Only a handful of times had he been called to Hogwarts to join in with learning a new spell or joining in on a training duel.

He had seen the Malfoy’s twice since the first time and by now not only was Draco watching him, however, but his father was also and clearly more circumspect about it. It didn’t really surprise him; not after their encounter in the graveyard. The Dark Lord was bound to be curious about him, however, he did wonder if those two had been the reason Dumbledore had picked up on something or if something completely different was behind it. After all, only because he was a Slytherin (one who had practically been raised by the most Slytherin of all Slytherins, in fact) had he noticed something. That still did not mean that the beacon of all Gryffindors had done either. He had to admit that those two blondes had not been overly obvious about it and he wasn’t even sure if he would have noticed it if not for the fact that he had been looking for a sign that maybe Voldemort would make his move soon. But as mentioned before, so far he hadn’t.

Sighing, he put the mop back in its cupboard and slipped into his trainers to leave for the Ministry once more. Dumbledore had given him a special Portkey that transported him there and back again at a set time. He was quite certain that the Portkey had not been approved by the Ministry and was illegal in fact; otherwise he probably would have some company in the form of properly trained Aurors. Also, as far as he understood the Department of Mysteries was a very secretive section of the Ministry of Magic and the Minister would probably never let him step foot in there if he knew about it.

The only good thing about the whole task was that Dumbledore had given him a special cloak, an Invisibility Cloak which he had no right to possess anyway, as it had been an heirloom from the Potter family of which he was supposedly the heir and not the old coot. But of course, as usual, Dumbledore had not bothered with such trivial legal matters. However now that he was in possession of the artifact, Rhian would make sure that Dumbledore would never touch it again. And at some point, he would also make sure that the old coot would not be able to steal any more heirlooms (or money) from his Gringotts Vaults. But for that as well, he needed to get away from him first.

He felt the by now familiar tug behind his navel and a moment later found himself once again in the gigantic hall that was filled with rows upon rows of high shelves, all of them holding small, bluish glass spheres.

As usual, he was instantly drawn to the shelf where the prophecy that apparently sealed his fate as the Dark Lord’s enemy and possible Defeater was placed. However, it was no magical pull that drawed him there but more his own curiosity. As everything else that had come from the old coots mouth, the prophecy, or rather the story of the prophecy, sounded fishy, especially as Dumbledore had never told him the contents of it.

And that was if he left out the fact that he was clearly not a Light Wizard and got along quite well with the Dark Lord’s Diary, and well enough with the man himself.

The crystal ball, however, looked just like all the others as he now stood before it, examining it for what felt at least the thousandth time.

“What a shame, so close and still unable to hear it. But don’t worry, we are here now, your excuse has arrived,” a mocking voice suddenly could be heard from behind him. He spun around and came face to face with two masked and black robed figures, however, the long blonde hair spilling out from under the drawn hood of the left figure was a clear give away.

“I guess your Master sends you?” He asked without batting an eye.  
“Isn’t he your Master as well, boy?” the second, smaller man instantly sneered, a threatening tone rising to his voice. Almost like a guard dog, Rhian thought and returned the sneer:

“I don’t know. He never contacted me after our little chat last summer.”

“No one enters our Lord’s circles after only one short chat,” the second man sneered. “But he has sent us now to prove your loyalties. Maybe afterwards he will be more inclined…”  
“Trying to contact you is not risk free for our Lord, regardless of how much he may gain through it for our side,” Lucius finally cut the annoying wizard off. “We were trying to gather information about you; however, someone must have wiped your past clean.”

“I could have told him as much and spared you months of work and by extension myself some pain,” he replied, turning his sneer now at the Malfoy Lord. “Dumbledore is controlling every aspect of my life, he even decided on tutoring me privately to control the children I meet.” Lucius Malfoy’s eyes quickly caught the light of the glowing crystal balls and for a second, Rhian could see an intense, searching look in them.

Giving a curt nod, he quickly made up his mind.  
“I will retrieve the prophecy for you, however, the Dark Lord better acknowledge my sincerity afterwards,” he told them pointedly, conveying the message without actually saying it.

A growling sound came from the wizard whose name he still did not know, but Draco’s father inclined his head. So turning around, he took the prophecy from its shelf and activated it with a spark of his magic:

_"The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...  
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...  
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...  
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...  
The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."_

Suddenly a loud bang echoed through the hall of prophecies and Rhian instantly shouted.  
“Someone is coming!” He exclaimed, instantly realizing that Dumbledore must have had additional precautions in place and been warned about the Death Eater’s arrival. 

He had to give the two Death Eaters credit however as they reacted instantly. Immediately the smaller one shot a well aimed spell at the shelf behind him, making the orbs explode in a glittering downpour of blue glass fragments. Lucius Malfoy had sent a spell at him at the same time, destroying the prophecy effectively, just in time before a group of people appeared around the corner.

Rhian could recognize Tonks and Moody. There was also a man with light brown hair he had never seen before, and to his horror, his godfather Sirius as well. The four men lifted their wands, but before they could utter a single spell, Lucius had grabbed him and whispered: “He is on to you,” and pushed him violently into the Light Wizards’ direction, adequately distracting them.

The two Dark Wizards used the confusion to apparate out.  
Relief washed through him even as Sirius caught him and started to searchingly pat him down for injuries. He was so distracted that he hissed automatically as one hand brushed over a particular deep cut of Vernon’s belt.

“Moony, he is injured! We have to get him to Albus, now!”  
The brown haired man turned his head to him and sniffed once, making him finally realize that it had to be Remus, the Werewolf friend of his godfather and James Potter.  
“They must have tortured him, I can smell a lot blood on him!” he gasped and quickly turned to Tonks and Moody. “Will you stay behind and try and see if you can find some magical residues from those two Death Eaters? Maybe we can find some indications as to who they were…”

 

“I don’t need any residues to recognize the blonde one!” Moody barked, but waved them off. “Go lads and tell Dumbledore we will bring our reports as soon as we are finished.”

“You take him. You are stronger!” Sirius ordered his friend and for a moment he wanted to protest. He wasn’t happy being carried in the first place, let alone by a stranger, but before could say a word he was scooped up by the werewolf, but unlike Lucius and the other Death Eaters, they apparently had no way to apparate in and out, so for the first time he got a glimpse at the governing building of the Wizarding World as he was carried through endless hallways into a huge entrance hall. It was greatly disappointing, dark, as if they were hiding under the earth; and even the gigantic, golden statue only showed how much wizards and witches had fallen from grace. A wizard standing in superiority over a Goblin, House Elf and Centaur who were looking up at him in adoration. Even a witch and a smaller, more delicate looking man were groveling in front of the figure. Despicable! He wondered what the Goblins and Centaurs would do if they were to see it, or any strong, independent woman for that matter.

Sirius quickly re-ignited one of the many fireplaces that lined the walls to both sides, tossed some floo powder from a pocket into the flame and shouted “Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts,” so that Remus could carry him through.

The swirling of the floo ride only added to his confusion and before he knew it he was carried out into Dumbledore’s office and the Werewolf shouted: “Albus! We got him, but he is injured!”

Fast steps could be heard and suddenly the old coot appeared from behind a tapestry that was apparently hiding another room, or maybe a staircase to his private quarters.

The old wizard’s blue eyes flickered from him to the man carrying him and back again, a strange gleam entering his eyes, before they once again settled on the Werewolf: “Where is Sirius? Was he injured or killed?”

“No, don’t worry. He should be right behind us,” Remus reassured the man, who answered with a relieved nod; however, Rhian had seen the quick darkening of the Headmaster’s eyes.

“Good, good. Now, what happened to Harry?”

“They must have tortured him, the stench of blood is strong on him,” Remus explained and turned to the office door, however, Dumbledore stopped him:  
“There is no need to wake Poppy; she had quite the busy day. I have some potions that will patch him up right away, just lay him down on my couch.”

“Are you sure, Albus? Lucius Malfoy was one of them and he is a vicious bastard!” Sirius’ voice could be heard from the direction of the fireplace, where he must have just arrived.  
“Yes, Sirius. He is conscious and does not seem to be suffering from any Dark Curses,” Albus reassured his godfather while pressing a small vial into his hand. He didn’t even need to read the label to recognize it for a mild healing potion that would probably not even be strong enough to close the deeper cuts. If anything, it would reduce the swelling around the injuries.

The Werewolf still looked worried, but he was sure that he would think the continued smell of blood would come from his clothes, and either way, Dumbledore did not leave them time for any more concerns as he turned to him.

“Now, Harry, is the Prophecy still safe?”  
“...no… it was destroyed. But I managed to smash it together with the whole shelf, so at least they couldn’t hear anything,” he lied and lowered his lashes in apparent guilt.

“That is not a problem, my boy. You did a good job. I still remember the words of Sybill Trelawney, the seer who made the prediction. As long as Voldemort does not find out its secrets, everything will be fine,” Dumbledore was quick to reassure him.

Most likely, the old coot was even relieved that there apparently was no chance for the Dark Lord ever hearing the prophecy any longer. After all, if even he could puzzle together that it was utter nonsense, so would a wizard as intelligent as the leader of the Dark.

He took the potions from the old wizard, downed it quickly and then asked: “Can I return home then? Healing potions always makes me sleepy.” As expected, he barely felt any change.  
“Of course my boy. The night has been rough. Go and rest so that you will be up to par tomorrow again,” the Headmaster nodded graciously and Rhian suppressed the snort that wanted to slip through his lips. Sure he would be all fine by tomorrow.

He waved at Sirius and Remus, before turning to the fireplace and grabbing some floo powder.

Once back in the neat muggle house of his ‘family’, he noticed to his relief that Malik had cooked the Dursley’s breakfast already and put it under heating charms, so that it would stay fresh.

Sometimes, he believed, the elf must have a sixth sense to know when he would be too tired to do his part of the daily chores. Well, he definitely was grateful for it.

Back in his room, he quickly changed into his PJ’s, before flopping down on his bed and grabbing the small mirror he hid in the drawer of his bedside cabinet.

It had been a present from Sirius, so that they could easily stay in contact and talk face to face. Which they had done, every evening for weeks now. Sirius was the second reason he had not gone insane yet. His godfather had distracted him with stories about himself and Rhian’s supposed late father.

The stories in general had not convinced him about James Potters, Sirius or Remus Lupin’s intelligence, but had been amusing enough. Nothing he would ever try to copy; he was too much of a Slytherin and had had too little off a childhood his whole life, but it had been better than to only think about what he had lost by giving the Diary away.

And one thing he had to admit; his godfather, as dense as he could often be, had a keen sense for when he felt truly bad. Four times the man had sneaked into his room in his dog form already to cheer him up and it had always worked. The mixture of the warm, furry body lying patiently next to him until he was ready to speak (at least the little he would admit to) and the bright presence of the man with his constant cheerful personality had somehow manage to sneak his way into his closed off heart.

Hoping that enough time has passed, he sent a pulse of his magic into the two-way mirror and called out his godfather’s name. He really needed to speak with the man. What had he been thinking sneaking around the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of all places!

Sirius’ face appeared with a wide grin, about to speak, but he didn’t give him the chance:  
“What, by Salazar’s goatee, had you been thinking?”  
His godfather’s expression dropped and a frown appeared on his haggard features. “What do you mean?”  
“The stupid stunt you just pulled off!” He huffed, annoyed about the man’s Gryffindorish cluelessness.  
“But Dumbledore said you were in danger. That the Death Eaters were after you and they clearly were!” Sirius protested.

“I had everything under control. There was no need for you to run into the Ministry that wants to catch and hand you over to the Dementors! In fact there was no reason for you to know about my newest mission. Didn’t I warn you about Dumbledore? That he is manipulative and uses everybody for his advantage?”

Sirius sighed and rubbed his face tiredly: “I know, but I honestly think that he isn’t as bad as you make him out to be. He always fought for the ‘Light Side’. I am sure he is only worried about you. Maybe he is a bit overprotective and overbearing; you are a special case after all. Speaking of protecting you, I thought about getting your custody finally. Dumbledore can help me clear my name and then you can leave those horrible relatives of Lily.”

Rhian sighed inwardly. Did his godfather not listen or was he just naive?

“Do you truly believe that? Don’t you think that he would already have done that, if he wanted to?”

“He couldn’t have been sure that I was innocent until recently,” Sirius scowled at him and Rhian decided to give the matter up for now. He personally didn’t believe that Dumbledore hadn’t known about the switch in Secret Keeper; the man after all made it his mission to know everything about his pawns. But he couldn’t let it go without one last warning: “Please be careful,” he told the man, meaning it. With Marvolo now gone, Sirius was basically his last left confidant.

He couldn’t be sure yet about Draco, and the Dark Lord as well as Marvolo was unreachable.

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

Rhian awoke with a gasp. This was getting ridiculous. As if he wasn’t agitated enough with his constantly growing and unsatisfiable hunger. He didn’t need those kinds of dreams nearly every night as well.

And every single one of them ended in the same infuriating way; with him nursing from that strangely familiar person, who felt even more familiar by now and finally getting sated.

Growling in annoyance, he pushed himself and stood up. He needed to get going, a look at his clock told him as much. Dumbledore definitely would expect him to come to his office after yesterday’s events and he was late already. He had slept for too long, something that basically had never happened in the past, but appeared to happen more and more frequently since he was getting weaker. Quickly he dressed in one of his cousin’s old hand-me-downs and left his room.

“You are late, boy!” His aunt snapped from the kitchen as soon as he stepped into the small hallway. “I don’t want any freakish letter from that man, so hurry up. And don’t forget to take out the garbage once you return!”

“Yes, aunt Petunia,” he answered obediently and hid his sneer in the shadows of his downcast face and continued to the fireplace.

Stepping out of the Headmaster’s fireplace, he quickly scanned the room and to his surprise, was not met with the old fool’s twinkling eyes, but a hard, dark glare.

“Mister Potter, finally. You are late, but I did not expect any different, knowing the man who passed on half of his genes to you.”

Blinking once, Rhian suppressed a delighted smirk. A Slytherin, finally. The man’s eyes quickly swept up to the many listening Portraits; he took the hint, sneered back and returned mockingly: “Sorry to have kept you waiting. I didn’t know you would be here, or I would have made sure to get up earlier after fighting Death Eaters the whole bloody night.”

“You can be glad that you are not part of any House yet, or you would just have lost your friends at least 150 points and earned yourself a week’s worth detention. Now, Professor Moody has been called into the Auror’s Department, his advice is needed this morning,” the dark man continued with a pointed look that made Rhian pay even closer attention, before rising to his feet in one fluid motion. “I will be teaching you and your little friends today. As you were running late, I sent them ahead.” he said and walked over to the office door, where he proceeded to hold it open and motioned Rhian through.

“During our lesson, you will address me as Sir, or Professor Snape. I will not tolerate any cheek, not even from a Potter.”

Nodding obediently for the portraits, Rhian stepped onto the spiral staircase which started to move as soon as the Professor had joined him and closed the door. He was just about to step ahead and out of the dark staircase, when the cold voice snapped at him once again: “Potter, don’t drop your litter and act as if you didn't notice it! I will not tolerate such blatant laziness.”

Turning around, his face carefully sculpted into a deep scowl, just in case Dumbledore could even spy in this dingy corridor, he turned around and followed the direction of the pointed, slightly yellow finger of the Professor.

On the stairs he just had stepped down from, lay a single, crumpled piece of parchment. It definitely wasn’t his; he never brought parchment to Hogwarts as he wanted to keep up the act of being an outcast in the muggle world perfectly, but said nothing and instead bent down and picked it up, before putting it securely into one of his pockets.

“My apologies, Professor,” he replied politely, but the man only swept past him and strode purposefully ahead.

What followed was the best lesson he has had since Marvolo had tutored him. Snape may not have the natural talent for tutelage, but his precise, clear instructions, the lack of constant side chattering (like Tonks tended to do) or attempts to get any kind of information out of him (like Moody liked to try), was refreshing.

He may not have learned a lot in the sense of new spells (he truly doubted that Snape could teach him a lot after over two years of tutelage from the most powerful and knowledgeable Dark Wizard alive, or could even have done so in the old fools castle), but Snape had taken him to the side and taught him some more physical moves like dodging and avoiding spells than just jumping out of the way like Moody was teaching him.

However, he had been the only one enjoying the change in teachers. Elijah didn’t get along with the Slytherin at all and Neville had been downright scared of the man.

The following lesson with Tonks and later even one of Dumbledore’s beloved “History Lessons” about the shining past of the ‘Light Side’, had crept by slower than a snail and the piece of parchment had grown heavier and heavier with every passing minute. Therefore, as soon as he got back at his relatives’, he grabbed the garbage and marched out of the house to find a quiet and secure place to read the message.

He found it not far down the street, in the form of an empty side alley which was only gloomily lit by the light spilling from the adjoining houses. Barely able to contain his curiosity any longer, he finally pulled the crumpled parchment out of his pocket, unfolded and straightened it, and began to read:

_If you truly wish to change your situation, then go to Gringotts during the summer break and request for a member of the Wizardry Protection Association. An associate will be on duty. Tell the goblins that you have not received the proper education about your Potter Lordship Inheritance and that you suspect your current guardian of keeping your vaults and heirlooms from you._

The letter wasn’t signed, but Rhian recognized it as the Dark Lord’s, as it was undeniably similar to Marvolo’s.

Carefully, he folded the parchment and put it securely back into his pocket as an evil smirk stretched his lips. Lord Voldemort had finally kept his word; he would be able to leave the Dursley’s and Dumbledore for good. Now, he only had to wait for the right opportunity to slip away. And once it appeared, he would make sure that the old fool wouldn’t know what had hit him.

For the first time he could remember, he began to whistle joyfully as he returned to the main street and continued upon his way. This day had been good. Maybe even one of his best.

Soon, he had sorted all the garbage into the proper containers and was back at the Dursley’s house. Far too early in his opinion; but luckily his so-called relatives were already gathered in the living room and watching an action movie loud enough to not even realize that he had returned.

Therefore, he took his chance and disappeared into his room, hoping that they would not remember that he existed (until the next morning, at least).

Deciding that he was not really tired yet, he went into his library, searched for an interesting sounding book (they grew rarer and rarer with every passing week) and settled down on his sofa. At some point, Orsana joined him and he pet her obedient until his eyelids were finally drooping and he went to bed so as not to fall asleep on the couch.

However, as soon as his eyes had fallen shut and his breathing event out, another dream began:

**_He was scowling at the broom that was hovering a few feet above the ground in front of him. It was the perfect height to mount, and he wanted to get up there, but not with the help of a broom. He wanted to do it himself, without any help, the same as he saw his father do last evening; it was so much more impressive._ **

**_He tried to concentrate even harder and direct his magic. It was always a bit difficult for him to control his magic as there was so much of it. His daddy had explained that he had problems because he was special and not just an ‘average’ wizard._ **

**_“Rhian! Come inside. Lord Prince and Lord Malfoy along with his son had just arrived” his father called and shattered his concentration completely in the process as his broom dropped to the ground. With an annoyed huff he turned around sharply and followed his father._ **

**_He quickly ran after him to catch up, but as he drew nearer, the figure in front of him changed. He grew a few inches taller, his shoulders broadened with muscles. The silky wavy black hair that use to flow freely suddenly grew and was neatly tied back with a silken black ribbon. His fluid open walk changed into a calculated militant stride._ **

**_Something else changed as well, but Rhian couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. It was more like a feeling, as if his father was closing up to him in front of his eyes. All was forgotten though as they entered the throne room._ **

**_As usual he followed his father to the throne, and sat down in the small but equally silver chair as elegantly and regally as was expected of him._ **

**_He looked at the two men and the boy kneeling down respectfully in front of his father and waited for them to finish their business so that they could get back to the flying they had been doing outside._ **

**_“You have returned in a timely manner, so I assume you have completed the task I had assigned you Lord Prince” his father stated.  
“I have my Lord, the boy was given the letter and no one had noticed.”_ **

**_“Good,” his father replied with a satisfied nod, before turning his attention to the white haired gentleman he asked: “Any news from the Ministry I should be aware of Lord Malfoy?”_ **

**_As he wasn’t quite interested in his father's dealings, he let his eyes wander over to the older boy, wondering if he would like to come over to play sometimes. His father was picky about the children he was allowed to invite; in fact, he had not been allowed to invite anyone so far, but by the ring he was wearing, he could see that the teen’s father was in his dad’s inner circle. So he should be worthy enough._ **

**_The blonde boy’s eyes flickered up to him, and he almost startled at their bright, silver color. Yes, this boy definitely was from one of the oldest lines, magic ran strong through him; he could see and sense it. However, as the boy noticed that he was watching, he quickly cast his gaze back down. Disappointed, he returned his attention to the ongoing conversation. Hopefully once the teen had received a formal invitation, he would have more of a backbone._ **

**_“I have heard rumors that there has been unrest with the Dementors and that one was spotted in London itself” the boy’s father just replied._ **

**_“Yes, I was in a meeting with the leader of the Dementors earlier. Apparently Dumbledore gave instruction to ‘Kiss’ Lord Black on sight and included an address. The man should be dead by now... or as dead as a ‘kissed’ person becomes,” his father advised._ **

**_He saw a frown marring the face of the man his father called Lord Prince.  
“That old fool doesn’t seem to learn and keeps pushing. I am afraid he might have pushed too hard at this point if the boy suspects the truth. We might even see him sooner than anticipated.”_ **

**_His father inclined his head and looked thoughtful for a second. “His arrival will definitely be of no hindrance to our cause. In fact, the sooner, the better. Let the ‘Light’ fools find out that victory is not as close as they like to believe.”  
He nodded again, as if confirming something to himself, before returning his attention the other Lord; Lord Malfoy, he supposed._ **

**_“I want you to take care of another matter. It is not important whether you take care of it yourself or hire someone trustworthy, but news reached me that Igor is not loyal to us anymore.”_ **

**_“The problem will be solved,” the man promised and underlined his statement with a deep bow.”_ **

**_“You may leave then,” his father dismissed, making him sigh inwardly in relief._ **

**_Once the three had left, he jumped to his feet, ready to run back into the garden, however, his dad’s voice stopped him: “Rhian, are you not hungry yet? Your last feeding has been last evening,” he admonished him and casting his eyes down, he realized that his stomach indeed felt rather empty._ **

**_Nodding, he smiled up at his father and quickly climbed onto his father’s lap where he proceeded to push the heavy black velvet robe open._ **

**_“You should be more responsible. We have all the time in the universe and you need nourishment if you want to grow into a strong wizard,” his father continued, lifting one hand to comb it through his long black strands in a rare show of care and affection. Sighing, he relaxed into the touch and settled down comfortably, before lashing onto a pale nipple._ **

**_The sweet liquid that filled his mouth and ran down his throat warmed his stomach and gave him new strength. This was so delicious, nothing compared to the taste of his father, not even the finest chocolates he sometimes got from his father’s subjects._ **

**ΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθΦθ**

Rhian startled awake and for a moment the world seemed to spin around him. His head was pounding where his lightning bolt scar was embedded into his forehead and he felt nauseous. Closing his eyes, he waited for the spinning to stop and for the confusion that was filling his mind to vanish.

What kind of crazy dream had that been? Why had the man that looked like Marvolo suddenly grown older? Who was he anyway? A king? And what had Snape, Draco and Lucius been doing there? And the name the man had used for the Professor… what had it been? Prince? It all made no sense.

Suddenly another piece of conversation echoed through his mind and he gasped. In the dream, they had talked about Sirius’ murder. By Dumbledore’s hands. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes again and shook his head vehemently. He needed to stop panicking; it had only been a crazy dream after all.

Thinking that there was nothing better than just getting going to distract himself, he got up and readied for the day. As he got the prepared breakfast table, he found Orsana curled around a steaming cup of tea.

Smiling down at the shrunken basilisk, he picked her up, getting a few hissed grumbles for his effort, and placed her around his neck.

 _“Just stay hidden, then you can accompany me to Hogwarts today,”_ he hissed, piling his plate full of delicious, but unsatisfying goodies.

 _“Thank you so much for your graciousness, Master. I would like nothing more than to accompany you to Hogwarts and get sick in one of your pockets while that crazy old man chases you around,”_ Orsana hissed sarcastically and slithered down his arm and back onto the table.

 _“Well, then just stay here and wait for me,”_ he shrugged, piercing a piece of waffle with whipped cream onto his fork.

Fifteen minutes later he was stepping into his relative’s neat hallway. Fortunately neither of the Dursley’s were at home, so he got to the living room without any nasty comments and quickly floo’ed over to Hogwarts.

However, once again he arrived not to the scene he had expected. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, just as usual, but instead of Neville and Elijah, there was an old Lady sitting in a fluffy armchair, as well as Moody and Tonks.

“... I think the boys need and deserve a holiday, Albus. They are still children and the weather is bound to be too hot for any serious training anyway.”

“Quite right, Augusta,” Dumbledore said with a soft, seemingly understanding smile, but Rhian saw the annoyance in the old man’s eyes even from a distance.

“Then we have an agreement?” The witch asked, rising to her feet. Looking at her straight and confident stance, he got an inclination as to why Dumbledore bowed to her wishes. She clearly held a lot of power, most likely not only magically, but politically as well.

She didn’t actually wait for an answer from the old fool, and rose instantly in Rhian’s book; however, as soon as she had vanished in the hearth, he was called over by Dumbledore.

“As you must have heard, you, Neville and Elijah will have a break over the Summer Holidays. However, I believe that your role in this war is far too important to slack off completely, therefore, Professor Moody has brought some literature along for you,” the wizard said and took the book Moody was now holding out.

Sighing inwardly, Rhian waited patiently as Dumbledore skipped through the pages, until he finally stopped.

“As you can see, this book contains very detailed pictures of wand movements. I want you to practice and memorize all of them and once we resume our lessons in September, I will explain to you their purpose and proper usage.”

Moody and Tonks rose to their feet, the latter giving him a cheerful smile and Rhian proceeded to follow their example, assuming that their meeting was over and Dumbledore would want to be left alone so that he would be able to plan and plot in peace. However, to his dismay it was not meant to be:

“Harry, my boy, please stay behind,” Dumbledore suddenly stopped him as he was about to follow the others to the fireplace. Frowning, he nodded and sat back down, trying to squash the uneasy feeling that had barely left him from earlier this morning, and which was rising up inside of him once more.

Calculatingly, he watched as Dumbledore waited for Lady Longbottom who was last in line to leave as well. Once she had disappeared, the old wizard turned to face him with a grave expression. Rhian didn’t buy it, but it made the lump of ice in his stomach only heavier.

“Harry, I am afraid I have to deliver some sad news to you. Earlier last night, Sirius, your godfather, unfortunately crossed paths with some Dementors.”

 ** _“The man should be dead by now... or as dead as a ‘kissed’ person becomes”_** He suddenly heard the Nobleman’s voice echo in his head and his fingers began to shake.

“I am truly sorry,” Dumbledore said in the background, but he could barely hear him as dread filled his body like ice water, numbing every cell of his.

First Marvolo and now Sirius. No one was left. They were all gone. First his tutor, the first adult he had ever trusted and now Sirius, his godfather who, despite himself, he had started to care about and view as a family member.

He was on his own again. And then it truly sunk in. Sirius was dead, killed by Dementors hands, just like Snape, Lucius and the other man had said in his dream, and he would bet his wand arm that it was Dumbledore’s doing, just like they had discussed. 

Suddenly, hot rage melted the numbness away and with balled fists, he stood up and turned to the fireplace. He just manage to get a sorry excuse of an apology out, one, he hoped that sounded as if he was riddled with sadness and distress and not anger, and to his relief, Dumbledore didn’t stop him as he floo’ed back to Privet Drive.

His mind was racing 100 miles a second as one realization followed the other. The dream had not been a dream and considering how similar it had been to his previous dreams, it was likely that they had not been dreams either. He suddenly remembered what Marvolo had told him about his name, that it had been the name of someone who had once been very important to the Dark Lord. So the child he had dreamed about, could it be that it had been that person and not himself as he had assumed until now? Was the man even Voldemort, how he had looked before his defeat? After all, the similarity to Marvolo was there. So, was he having dreams about the past? Were they maybe visions?

Whatever those earlier dreams had meant, one thing he was certain about; Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape (or Prince) and Draco had visited Lord Voldemort this night and he had somehow witnessed it. Somehow, those events had snuck their way into his other dream and connected with it.

And that just reminded him; he wasn’t alone, not completely. He had a place where he could go; Lord Voldemort had arranged an opportunity for him, one that probably would never repeat itself again. He had planned on going anyway, but had not been certain when the right time would be, but now Dumbledore had gone too far. Not a single moment longer he would play along the old fool’s charade. He had nothing to lose and all to win. He would leave. Now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Author’s Note: **
> 
> **So here is the completed sequel. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Remember to ‘Follow’ the story as I will add a extract of Chapter 1 of ‘Family Ties’ here in this story when I post Chapter 1 of the new one. Also join me on Facebook.**
> 
> **I plan on writing ahead in Family Ties, so there will be a bit of a break till the sequel, but I do have some other surprises in store!**
> 
> **Please don’t forget to review as this is the end of the journey…. for now….**
> 
> **JSG**


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